


My (Espresso) Shot

by ice_hot_13



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Bisexual Male Character, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-09-07 17:30:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16858282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ice_hot_13/pseuds/ice_hot_13
Summary: Alex finds himself, quite unexpectedly, working in a coffee house. (Modern day coffeeshop AU!)





	1. Chapter 1

                 The fog lifted for the first time when he saw the sign.

_Holiday drinks are here! Peppermint Mocha and Eggnog Latte!_

                Alexander Hamilton stopped on the sidewalk, mindless of the people brushing past him and of the icy wind blowing through him, and stared at the sign. It didn’t feature so much as a snowflake for adornment, unlike other coffee houses in the Village, with their elaborate window stickers and prematurely appearing Christmas lights. Alex couldn’t stop staring at this particularly plain sign, though. Peppermint and eggnog? That was all? It wasn’t like coffee shops had that many big seasons, the holidays had to be their busiest time. And all this coffee house had to offer – the lettering at the top of the sign told him the shop was called Coffee In The Harbor – were two unoriginal drinks?

                It was stupid, a throwaway thought and nothing more, but it was the first thing Alex had felt anything towards since the dense, impenetrable cloud closed in around him. That probably didn’t mean anything about the coffee house itself, but he still found himself pulling open the front door, stepping inside.

                Despite it being the beginning of November in New York City, the shop wasn’t overly crowded. It was nine in the morning on a Wednesday, though; would that be a busy time for a coffee shop, normally? Was their pricing to blame, or their actual coffee? The questions caught Alex off-guard, inquisitiveness having become a stranger to him. He wasn’t sure what he came in here for, but when he spotted a “we’re hiring!” notice taped to the pastry case, he walked up to the counter and asked the barista for an application.

                “It’s a wonderful place to work! It’s my spot you’d be filling, I’m moving to Brooklyn, but I’m going to miss this place like crazy. You’d love it here!” she told him encouragingly; her smile was brilliant. She fit seamlessly into the atmosphere, Alex thought; the shop itself was warm and inviting, with dark wood flooring and a fireplace in the corner, narrow stairs in the back, a Christmas tree in the front window. Despite the rather Spartan sign standing out front, the interior seemed to aware the holidays were approaching. Tiny Christmas lights adorned the counter and windows, and the tree added the scent of pine to the air. The barista’s smile was calm and uplifting, like she and this place were the hearth of a home.

                “I haven’t worked in a coffee shop before,” Alex said haltingly. He hadn’t, had never felt any interest in trying, couldn’t figure out why he was even contemplating doing so. He should have been – been doing things, getting back to work, to school, he had so much to _work_ on – a dizzying wave of panic started to appear over the horizon, and he took the pen she held out to him, mumbled a thank you and quickly retreated to the farthest table in the shop. The application swam before his eyes for a moment, and he had to take slow, measured breaths, clutching the pen tightly in one hand.

                _Latte sales,_ he thought frantically, _holiday flavors, more customers._ His heart didn’t hammer quite as fast. _Better holiday flavors._ His breathing slowed to normal, and just like that, it was over. It had never been staved off that quickly before, and maybe that was why he actually filled out the application and handed it in before leaving.

                _Peppermint and eggnog,_ he thought, with a last look at the sign, _I could do better than that._

~~~

                “You look familiar,” the manager said thoughtfully, when Alex sat down for his interview. It hadn’t taken long to receive the call, barely four hours, and Alex had found himself returning to the coffee house the very next day.

                “I’ve, I’ve been in here before,” Alex lied, because he recognized Aaron Burr. Aaron had been part of the catering staff at a networking event Alex attended last year. Alex may have introduced himself, and then launched into a speech-maybe-lecture about ethically sourced coffee beans and where did the coffee shop get their beans? Aaron had smiled humorlessly and said “perhaps you’re in the wrong field of study.” Alex’s response was immediate fury at being belittled, as Aaron glided back to the coffee station before Alex could form another sentence. The memory was too close to thinking about everything else, and Alex had to take a deep breath before he looked back at Aaron.

                The interview was short, just questions about his schedule (completely open), availability (immediately, today, right after the interview), experience (irrelevant, hand-waved away).

                “Well,” Aaron shrugged, “the holidays are a busy time for us. We could really use more help.”

                “Actually, I think they could be busier,” Alex said, eagerness welling in his chest, “I saw your holiday flavors, I think you could really expand on that. You could have weekly specials. They could have matching pastries! You could do a contest for a new flavor -”

                “How about you start by learning to make the drinks we already have,” Aaron laughed. Alex wanted to huff out a frustrated breath, wave his hands around and insist that _actually,_ why bother with the current menu when there could be a better one? Why waste time? The holidays were already here, why not launch a new menu – how long did it take to create a drink? Twenty minutes? – today at the latest?

                “I mean, sure,” Alex backtracked reluctantly, gave a smile to attempt to hide it. “Does that mean I’m hired?”

                “Welcome to the shop,” Aaron stood, collected the papers on the table before him – Alex’s application was on top of a stack of what looked like product order forms and not other applications, and the empty spaces Alex had left under work experience and schooling jumped out at him. He just didn’t want to talk about it, was all. Or think about it. “Could you start tomorrow morning, at ten? I won’t start you during the morning rush, I don’t want to stress you out so much you run out on us,” he laughed.

                “Don’t worry! I don’t stress easily,” Alex said – lied, lied – because he suddenly wanted this, so much it surprised him. It just felt easier to breathe here, in this warm, small shop that smelled like coffee and pastry, the rest of the world decidedly separated from him by the big windows. “Thank you for hiring me, I’m really excited to work here. I’ve got a lot of ideas to help!”

                “Baby steps,” Aaron said, “you’ve got to learn to steam milk before you can make a cappuccino.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

                The rumored morning rush was decidedly over when Alex arrived at nine forty five the next morning. He hadn’t slept well – never seemed to anymore, sleeping in fits and starts, staring at the ceiling so he wouldn’t watch the clock – but the smell of coffee perked him up as soon as he opened the door. The warmth of the shop pulled him in from the cold, and the bells on the door chimed merrily to announce his arrival.

                “Good morning!” the barista behind the counter greeted Alex heartily, in a heavy French accent. He was as inviting as the barista Alex had met first; the chalkboard-like nametag pinned to his apron read _Lafayette._

                “Hi! I’m Alex, I was just hired?” He felt something uncertain hovering in his chest, and that was stupid, he _knew_ what he was doing here, he was definitely just hired, he had no real reason to be unsure. The nervousness was new, the anxiety trailing him everywhere he went – was it really new, or just pronounced now? Had he always been this way, and just barreled past it? It was like being thrown from a horse and then afraid to get back on – charging through life with full confidence, taking a horrible fall, and now – Introspection wasn’t helping.

                “Oh, hello!” the barista’s expression changed from polite welcoming to genuine delight. “I’m training you today! I’m Lafayette.”

He stuck out his hand to shake and Alex couldn’t help but ask, “Lafayette?”

“My first name is stupid,” Lafayette explained with a grin, “and my last name, it’s great! Come around and I’ll give you an apron.” Before Alex had even made it all the way around the counter, a broad man appeared in the doorway Alex presumed to the kitchen, holding a tray of croissants. Freshly baked, from the heavenly scent.

“Check these out, you sad excuse for a Frenchman!” he all-but bellowed. A quick glance backwards told Alex that though the café wasn’t exactly empty, the small handful of patrons didn’t even notice the interruption. Maybe it was a daily, or hourly, occurrence. “He was _born in Paris,”_ the man said, addressing Alex now, “and he can’t bake for shit. I tried to make him my apprentice first, and he practically burned the entire Village to the ground!”

“One dishtowel,” Lafayette protested, “this is hardly the entire village, Hercules.”

“All I can say is thank God for John Laurens,” Hercules moved between them to put the croissants out in the pastry case. Surprisingly, it had been decimated. Maybe there had been a bit of a rush.

“Was that a _compliment?!_ Someone call the press! _”_ someone yelled from the kitchen. Alex found himself grinning; he felt lighter than he had in recent memory, thoroughly distracted in the present moment.

“Burr doesn’t come in until later,” Lafayette explained to Alex, producing a new apron from where it had been stashed under the counter, complete with a blank nametag, ready for Alex. “Aaron Burr is the manager, he’s the one who interviewed you. This is Hercules Mulligan,” he gestured to the baker, who was carefully arranging croissants, “and John Laurens is the other baker back there. I’m assistant manager, so I’m here practically all the time, and I’ll train you. We’re a little short on staff. And now we have you! So we are even shorter.” He flashed a grin at that, but there was a studying look in his eyes that was somehow comforting, that he was checking Alex wasn’t offended. And Alex – well. He didn’t have that many friends. Hardly any, if he was being honest. He was too – not busy, because that was an excuse, he was too intense and too stubborn and too hard to deal with, but he wanted them. He wanted to be friends with Lafayette, and already liked him.

“If you’ve got a step stool around here, I’ll be tall enough to kick your ass,” Alex said, and Lafayette burst out laughing.

“I like you!” he declared, and hopefully didn’t see Alex blush with happiness. The prospect of having actual friends, who _liked_ him, wasn’t something he’d expected to be part of his day.

Neither was the way he felt when the apprentice baker stuck his head around the doorway and smiled at him. “Thought I’d introduce myself,” he said, smiled a little. For someone so loud earlier, he was almost shy, didn’t even leave the doorway. “I’m John. The apprentice that _didn’t_ put a dishtowel in the oven.”

“I _forgot!”_ Lafayette threw his hands up.

“Hey, I’m Alex.” Alex felt just as shy, suddenly. John had freckles, bushy curls he’d tied back, a smudged apron, and the brightest eyes.

“I’m happy you’re here! Um, like, we all are. Welcome!” He gave a tiny wave, ducked back into the kitchen. When Alex noticed the rest of the world around him again, Lafayette was grinning from ear to ear. He didn’t mention anything, thankfully, just handed over a pen so Alex could write his nametag, and launched into a lesson about making coffees.

~~

Alex had a fantastic first day; he walked to the subway and barely felt the icy wind whipping past him, didn’t care that he couldn’t find a seat on the packed train, didn’t notice the rain as he walked from the station to his apartment. He was just _happy,_ head filled with recipes and temperatures and times, new ideas for holiday flavours. He had to review the project, since even one day had taught him that coming up with new flavors would take a lot longer than the fifteen minutes he’d originally guessed. It was, it turned out, quite a bit more complicated than that.

His good mood plummeted when he saw who was waiting for him on the steps of his building. Though, that wasn’t fair; he did adore Angelica. It was just everything – else. The whole situation, everything that went with it, and he felt his chest tighten as he walked the last few steps, suddenly so much wearier.

“Hey, Angelica,” he said, tried not to sound downtrodden to see her. Angelica all-but threw her umbrella aside to hug him; she smelled familiarly like the cinnamon-y candles that adorned her apartment, and Alex felt sick from the associated memories.

“Alex! Come on, come inside,” she urged, as if it were her own home and she could bundle him inside and fuss over him. Alex followed her into the building, and the stairs were too numerous for her to talk to him as they climbed the four flights. Once inside his apartment, Alex watched as she shed her wet coat, hung it on one of the pegs beside the door.

“Aren’t you going to come in?” she asked, when he just stood there. Alex nodded mutely, shrugged out of his jacket, hung it beside hers, toed off his shoes. “I haven’t heard from you in weeks! Neither of us have,” she added, softer.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He followed her into the kitchen, which was really sharing space with the living room and also bedroom. It was a tiny place, in a pretty rundown building, but it was his. He’d always hated living alone, but had no friends to live with, and tended to fail roommate interviews, mostly because he couldn’t stop himself from going on and on about the wrong things – the futility of chore charts, the gender roles associated with housework, the responsibilities corporations had to citizens to make products that were eco-friendly – and by then, they’d stopped listening, and realized they didn’t want to hear any more. At least he’d managed to find a cheap studio through one of his teachers, who was giving him an absurdly good deal; back at the beginning of all this, it had looked like a sign that things were looking up for him.

Angelica was bustling around in the kitchen, turning on the electric kettle, taking out the assortment of tea bags – a gift from Angelica herself – and going through his drawer of takeout menus, the most functional part of his kitchen.

“You didn’t call me,” she said, as he sunk down on one of the kitchen stools. He had two, not that he frequently needed it. Optimism in Ikea was one of his downfalls. Two counter stools, a couch that could fit three or four people, more than just a couple mugs. “You didn’t call Eliza. Did you call _anyone?”_

He flinched at the thought – who, exactly, would he call? Everyone he knew, he knew professionally, hardly the kind of people you’d call to the hospital. Maybe if it had been a stupid broken arm or something, that would have been more thinkable. Angelica seemed to realize, and her expression softened.

“How are you now?” she asked instead.

“I’m fine.” Alex reached for the stack of menus she’d set on the counter, started sorting through them. He knew all the people at the various restaurants who would give him the takeout order, because he went there so often and because he maybe lingered too long when he went, talking to yet more people who weren’t interested in listening.

“You should have called me,” she said, but it was gentle, and she reached to cover his hand with her own. He didn’t look up, but stopped moving. “I don’t care if you guys are broken up. Neither does she. We’re still friends, the kind you can call when –” she trailed off. She didn’t know the details; he wasn’t going to fill in. He hadn’t intended for her to know at all, her or Eliza. His plan had been to just quietly go home, return to his life, and she’d found out when he missed first one, then three, meetings of the student government.

“I thought you’d be mad that it made me realize me and Eliza couldn’t be together,” Alex mumbled. “And that she needed you more.”

“And then you ignored all my calls.” He’d responded to them with the short text _sorry was in the hospital for a day, fine now,_ which had only served to increase her call frequency. He couldn’t say nothing, he’d reasoned after a few days of deliberating, because even he had to admit that his behavior had been abrupt, alarming.

The kettle clicked itself off, and she poured tea for the both of them, fixing Alex’s with his usual amount of sugar before sliding it across the counter. “ _Are_ you okay?” He could see it plainly on her face: she didn’t understand, and desperately needed to. Admittedly, the story she had made little sense – one day he’d been fine, and the next, he was abandoning every responsibility in his life, disappearing from everywhere, all because of a simple hospital stay that she probably assumed was for the flu or something equally minor.

“I’m fine.” When she didn’t look convinced, he added, “I got a new job.”

“Really?” Angelica brightened, but her confusion was clear. “Where?”

“It’s, uh. A coffee shop.”

Surprise registered on her face, but her delight didn’t diminish. “That’s great, though. You need to take a break from everything, Alex. It would be good for you.” A break, she said, as if he’d politely disengaged from everything, let people know he’d be off for a while and then returning, like it had been scheduled and neatly accomplished and voluntary.

He could tell her, he thought, as she leaned over to peruse the menus, her presence somehow making the tiny apartment warmer, softer. They’d always been friends, and she’d never seemed exhausted by him. He could do it, tell her _I didn’t recover, I just existed until I got to this point. I can’t write anything without hyperventilating. The panic attacks scare the shit out of me. I didn’t take this job because my rent is due – even though it is – and my savings are almost gone – even though they are. I got lost, I can’t find my way out._

Or, he didn’t have to talk about it. He could just spend the evening with her, eating takeout and watching reality TV and not talking about it. That sounded easier, and Alex – champion of the hard, challenging, difficult path – was going to take the easy way this time.

~~

Alex’s first week of work flew by; Lafayette was impressed by how quickly Alex learned to make the drinks, as if Alex went home and did things besides memorizing recipes for work. Alex didn’t; it was easy, though, in a way that let him breathe easily. He went home after work every day with the recipe book he regularly stole from under the counter, reading it while eating dinner or watching vapid TV. He was at the point of recognizing recipe constants, and he was pretty sure he knew enough of the building blocks that he could start to craft his own recipes.

“Good morning, Alex!” Lafayette greeted him on Monday, surprisingly cheery for so early in the morning. He wasn’t usually a morning person, Alex had learned. At six AM, his usual greeting was more along the lines of a mournful “it is so _early,_ Alex!”

“Do you especially like Mondays?” he asked, as he tied on his apron. Lafayette grinned.

“Mondays are special around here, my friend! You are about to see a man in _love!”_ Lafayette was absolutely gleeful.

“Which man, you?” Alex asked, starting on the list of opening duties – it was laminated and taped inside a cabinet, but he had it memorized already – since Lafayette was busy being cheerful. He could hear the bakers in the kitchen, already a couple hours into their day; Hercules was singing along to instrumental jazz as usual, which was mostly composed of scatting that didn’t always match the music. “Him?” Alex guessed.

“Stop _singing!”_ he heard John howl in anguish. Alex frowned.

“…John?” he asked, voice cracking involuntarily. He hadn’t actually seen much of John since meeting him; John stayed in the kitchen, and always seemed too busy to bother whenever Alex peeked through the door.

Lafayette slapped him on the back and laughed. “No, Alexander! It is Burr! You will see!” He sauntered off to the storage closet, stopping to stick his head in the kitchen and shout “happy Monday, bakers!”

Over the weekend, Alex had met two other baristas; John Adams and John Jay– were they trying to exclusively populate the place with John’s? – neither of whom were big fans of Alex’s many questions. Aaron Burr had so far deferred Alex’s questions about new drinks being added to the menu; maybe in-love-Monday would be a good day to approach him about it.

A few hours passed; Alex had begun to lose interest in watching the door and guessing who Aaron was so smitten with, and was spending his time thinking of excuses to duck into the kitchen. Hercules was quick to replenish pastries, taking away that convenient reason. Alex was contemplating whether “I only use brown sugar in my coffee, can I borrow some?” was a dumb reason, when the next little crowd of people trickled in. He served a few – cappuccino, house coffee, house coffee – and decided that his idea was the stupider equivalent to borrowing a cup of sugar.

“Hello, how can I-” Alex started to greet the next customer, only to get abruptly shouldered aside by Aaron.

“Good morning, Thea,” Aaron said smoothly; the beautiful woman standing at the counter smiled at him. “Is today a caramel or a pumpkin day?”

“Aaron! You always remember!” Thea exclaimed in delight. Aaron positively preened.

“That’s her,” Lafayette whispered unnecessarily in Alex’s ear, bouncing on his toes. “Will today be the day he finally asks her out? Probably not, but we can hope!” He darted away to fix Thea’s drink, probably to give Aaron the opportunity to linger at the counter and make small talk.

Aaron wasn’t exactly amazing at it; it mostly consisted of him asking her how the weather was outside – clearly cold, if she was still wearing her gloves – and how her week was going – it had literally just started, so not much to report there. Lafayette seemed to be drawing out the process of making a caramel latte as much as he could, until he finally delivered it to the countertop beside Aaron, so Aaron could hand it over himself. He stood at Aaron’s elbow as Aaron bid Thea goodbye, hands behind his back, standing like a proud second in command.

“A productive morning!” he declared when the door swung shut behind her, grinning at Aaron, “another coffee, and zero asking for a date.”

“I’m waiting for the right time,” Aaron insisted, frowning at him. “And it’s not now.”

“You are the worst, Burr.”

“Don’t you have a trainee to be training?”

“Don’t you have a lady to be wooing? I will train my trainee when you woo your lady.”

Burr stomped off to his office upstairs with a huff; apparently, this would not be the time to approach him about the holiday drink plan that Ale was rapidly forming. It hummed along in the back of his mind as he served the next set of customers to come to the counter; he had a set of fifteen new flavors by the time the lunch rush had trickled to a close.

“What would you think,” he ventured, as Lafayette cleaned the stone countertop. “Of more holiday drinks?”

“That would be fantastic!” Lafayette said, entirely too enthusiastically; Alex was immediately suspicious and arched an eyebrow. “You know what would be a _very_ important part of this plan?”

“…what?”

“I would say it is actually the _most_ important part,” Lafayette continued, waving a hand through the air, “pivotal! Vital! Instrumental!”

“Now you’re just listing all the synonyms you know for ‘important.’”

“It is the _drinks,”_ Lafayette declared.

“Well, yeah, that is what I said.”

“No, the drinks! The _recipes!_ I think you’ll need help with all this.”

“Are you volunteering?”

“I think you need a professional.”

“As someone who works at a coffee house, aren’t _you_ literally a professional?”

“A professional in _flavor!”_ Lafayette pointed to the currently empty kitchen; Alex’s mouth went dry. “A baker, perhaps. But not our official baker, he’s too busy. If only he had an apprentice!”

“Laf…”

“But wait! He does! How perfect for you!” Lafayette was positively overjoyed; Alex felt himself blush all the way to his ears.

“Why is Hercules more busy than John, don’t they do the same stuff?” Alex stammered out, pretty sure his pathetic excuse sounded obvious for what it was.

“Alex, look at this place!” Lafayette waved his arm to indicate the nearly empty floor, “what do you think keeps this in business? We sell pastries to other bakeries and for some catered events, and he roasts the coffee himself downstairs.” News to Alex, actually. Good news for his plan, too.

“All the more reason to make this place do better! The coffee is great, it just needs to be less boring!”

“And for that, you’ll need to consult with the apprentice baker.” Lafayette grinned in triumph; somehow, he’d worked Alex all the way back around to the point Alex had been trying to avoid. Great.

“We’ll see,” Alex grumbled. “Maybe I’ll be great at it on my own, and not need any help!”

“Alexander,” Lafyette scolded, “you have been handed a beautiful, perfect excuse by God himself to go into that kitchen.”

“Are you God in this scenario? Because _you_ technically came up with this.” Alex huffed out a breath, turned to the wall of syrups that Hercules somehow found the time to make himself, “I’m going to see what I come up with this week and if it’s terrible, I’ll ask him for help.”

“See you in the kitchen in a week, my doomed friend!”


	3. Chapter 3

Alex’s grand coffee concocting adventure got off to a rocky start. It also featured a rocky middle, and a rocky ending. His drinks ranged from tasting like, according to Lafayette, “the dishwasher after you washed the dishes you made gingerbread with,” to “a pumpkin, but you got it from the dumpster.” Admittedly, pumpkin spice hadn’t been a high point; Lafayette had outright spit out the coffee after one sip.

“I do not think this is your calling,” Lafayette told him, after a particularly terrible caramel brulée latte that Lafayette claimed was more “scorched caramel” than anything else. “If only there was a very willing baker around to help you!”

Alex was saved from having to actually go into the kitchen and talk to John when the front door opened. “Customers!” Alex said eagerly, turning to the door. His heart immediately sank to the floor when he caught sight of the man in the doorway.

“Alexander Hamilton!” It was Thomas Jefferson. Thomas motherfucking Jefferson, standing in the coffee house, hands on his hips, staring right at Alex. Alex struggled to breathe.

“What – what are you doing here?” Alex managed to stammer out. He didn’t miss Lafayette’s inquisitive look, but didn’t even know how he’d address it. Thomas _fucking_ Jefferson. Alex had never been _scared_ of Thomas before, had cheerfully faced him and destroyed his arguments, and then his rebuttals, and then his rebuttals to the rebuttals. But Alex – he suddenly didn’t feel like a force to be reckoned with anymore, and Thomas was the harbinger of his real life, coming back for him.

“Getting coffee? It is a coffee shop.” Thomas approached the counter, but didn’t pay much attention to the menu, looking only at Alex. “Wow, I’ve never seen you like this.” He didn’t sound scathing; maybe the strangest part of the statement was that he sounded more mystified than anything else.

“Like this?” Alex’s eyes narrowed. Like he had the fight left in him to be offended that Thomas could look down on him for being here.

“Hamilton, stop looking at me like I’m an asshole. You just look like you’re doing well. Better than I’ve seen you before. You aren’t frantic and angry, for once, and I’ve literally never seen you look relaxed before this. Look, can you take your break right now?” He looked over, spotted Lafayette. “Hey, Laf. Can I take Alex?”

“Be my guest,” Lafayette still had a curious look on his face. How had Alex even managed to find the coffee shop in NYC where Thomas was such a regular, he knew the baristas by name? Why was Alex’s luck so bleak? “Coffee first?” Lafayette was already moving to fix something that decidedly wasn’t just coffee; typical Thomas, his regular drink was something crammed with fancy syrup and carefully steamed milk and whatever else Lafayette was putting in it.

After Thomas paid and accepted his drink, Alex reluctantly followed him over to a table by the front window. What, were they going to talk? They’d never _talked._ They’d argued, and shouted, and debated. They’d written scathing responses to each other’s work. They’d never had coffee together, although Alex technically didn’t have his own coffee, so he didn’t have to call it that.

“I mean it, by the way,” Thomas said, as he slid into his seat, “you look better.”

“Yeah, well.” Alex sat, stiffly. He fidgeted with his hands in his lap, frowning across the table at Thomas. “I supposed you heard what happened.” Thomas looked confused, which Alex wasn’t expecting; maybe he was being self-centered, expecting Thomas to have heard about it.

“Hamilton, I was _there.”_

“Oh. I guess I saw you.” He supposed he’d seen Thomas around at the Three Minute Thesis competition that day. Thomas usually attended the same academic events as Alex, after all. So, fine, Thomas had seen him. Another humiliating detail.

“No, I mean,” Thomas actually looked uncertain, for once. “I was presenting after you, so I was backstage.”

“Oh. Well. Great. Front row seat.” Alex’s chest was starting to feel tight, his breathing getting shallow. He didn’t want to talk about this. Or think about it. He’d – he’d come undone. He didn’t remember all the details, and hated to know that Thomas knew them and he didn’t. What was the goddamn point of coming here and talking to him about it?

“You came backstage where I was,” Thomas reminded him, voice weirdly nonaggressive. “And someone drove you to the hospital?”

“Okay.”

“It was me.” Thomas looked decidedly uncomfortable, like he didn’t know how to have a gentle conversation. He wasn’t alone; Alex didn’t either, and certainly not about this. Thomas sipped his coffee, looking away.

“You?” Alex didn’t remember that. Granted, he didn’t remember much of anything.

Receiving the judges’ remarks after his presentation – getting upset, arguing, suddenly feeling attacked, overwhelmed –

Realizing they were right, he was wrong – ranting about how wrong he was, tearing apart his own thesis, all his research, all for _nothing,_ wrong and nothing and a _waste,_ losing and wrong and unnecessary and unneeded and he’d have to do it again, he’d have to start all over and redo everything _–_

Suddenly backstage, crumpling to the ground, sobbing and feeling like he was _dying,_ couldn’t breathe, heart hammering until he thought it might stop all at once _–_ and someone must have been there, because he was taken to a car, to the hospital emergency room, waking up in a hospital bed he’d been delivered to.

 “ _You?”_ Alex repeated, because – Thomas? “I – let you?”

“Hardly,” Thomas barked out a laugh. “Can you believe that in the middle of a nervous breakdown, you actually said ‘if you keep talking, I’m going to scream’?”

That sounded like him. In the midst of things Alex couldn’t believe he’d done, was humiliated and ruined by, there was one thing that sounded like him. Still an awful thing to do, lashing out at the only person who helped him, but recognizable as something Alex would do.

“And you… kept helping me?”

“I mean, no one else knew what to do,” Thomas went back to looking uncomfortable. He didn’t have to mention that Alex had no friends at the event; Alex didn’t really have friends, after all.

“That’s…” Alex tried to take a few deep breaths.

“So I just, I’m glad I ran into you, because I was worried. It’s not like I have your phone number, and you aren’t checking your school email. Which – I mean, I think that’s good, I think you need to – step back, or something, because that was –”

“Pathetic,” Alex filled in under his breath, wanted to curl up and hide, move to a city where no one knew him.

“ _Scary,_ man. You ran yourself into the ground,” Thomas said, and when Alex glanced up, Thomas was looking at him. There was a genuine concern in his eyes that Alex bet he would have seen back on that day, if he’d noticed who was helping him. Alex still couldn’t believe it – it had been Thomas? He’d been the one who bundled Alex into his car, led him into the ER, sat beside him in the waiting room. Alex remembered only his own racing heart, shaking, being unable to stop sobbing, hysterical and not getting enough air to breathe.

“It was nice of you to do that,” Alex said quietly. “Thank you.”

He and Thomas sat quietly for a moment. Alex continued to fidget, and Thomas sipped his coffee. “Isn’t that like, insanely sweet?” Alex asked.

 “It brings out the coffee flavor.”

“It _covers_ the coffee flavor,” Alex scowled. He was surprised when Thomas laughed.

“I’ve missed you, man.”

“You have?” Alex hadn’t meant to blurt it out, but the surprise overtook him. Thomas shrugged a shoulder.

“I know we’re not _friends,_ but I mean, I see you more often than I see my actual friends. Maybe that makes us friends. And I haven’t seen you since the, uh, competition. No one knew if you were okay, and you weren’t okay the last time I’d seen you, so…” he shrugged again, trailed off.

“Well… I am okay, I guess. I mean. I haven’t gone back to – everything.” School, research, work, committees, writing, _everything._ Thomas waved them all away, though.

“You need a break.”

“ _You_ don’t,” Alex pointed out, “you do all the same stuff I do – did. How are you okay, and I’m-” God, he needed to stop talking.

“Hamilton, you were doing a _hundred_ more things than I am. I have work and my thesis, yeah, but I don’t take it home with me.”

“You have all those volunteer projects,” Alex said, unsure what his point was. Proving that he was a mess and Thomas wasn’t?

“They’re _fun,_ Alex. I hang out with kids and teach them about theater. I’m not on the committee, or starting a new project from the ground up and fundraising and trying to write an entire blog about new measures that increase charitable funding and campaigning for mayors. I take breaks, and do things just because I like them. I try to focus my energy on a few things, not all of them.”

“Oh. Huh.” Alex… supposed he didn’t do that. All his extra curriculars were time consuming, and never for the fun of it. Everything he started became all-consuming, and competed with his ten other all-consuming activities. He collapsed under the weight; Thomas floated.

Another silence. Alex looked back at the counter, hoping for customers, but saw none. Lafayette was pretending not to look at them; Alex saw the kitchen door swing closed, too.

“Look,” Thomas said, “I only found you because of dumb luck. I’ve been going out of my mind worrying about you, and I’m pretty sure that makes us friends. Give me your number so I don’t have to wander into random stores in New York looking for you.”

“You know where I work now,” Alex protested, but he took Thomas’s phone when he slid it across the table anyways.

“Point still stands.”

Alex put in his number, passed the phone back to Thomas. Thomas probably wouldn’t text him, anyways, but the thought of him having Alex’s number like they were friends made Alex feel a little less alone, somehow.

“You must be the guy who wants to add new holiday drinks to the menu,” Thomas said thoughtfully. “Lafayette told me about you. I should have known it was you weeks ago, who else would show up at a new job and immediately want to overhaul the whole menu?” Of course he was friends with Lafayette; it was mystifying to Alex, how someone could walk into a coffee shop and walk back out with a new friend. Sometimes, he felt like he was so _bad_ at making friends, and people like Thomas seemed to do it so easily. But – Alex had friends now. He had Lafayette. And, apparently, Thomas. It was an unfamiliar feeling.

“They’re missing out on a big opportunity if they have only two lame holiday drinks!”

“Well, if you need a taste tester, I’m happy to tell you when your drinks taste awful,” Thomas said cheerfully, getting to his feet. Alex did the same, fidgeted with the corner of his apron.

“Thank you for, uh. What you did. For me.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Thomas swatted Alex’s shoulder, “we’re friends, and all.” They hadn’t been at the time, though; despite how much Alex must have irritated him over the past couple years, Thomas still found it within himself to help Alex at his most broken.

Thomas headed into the light snowfall outside; Alex wandered back to the counter, feeling dazed. “I didn’t know you guys knew each other,” Lafayette commented lightly.

“Yeah,” Alex suddenly couldn’t talk about it. It had been momentarily easier, maybe because Thomas already knew everything. Lafayette, thankfully, somehow picked up on his anxious reluctance.

“He would agree with me that your caramel brulée latte was a tragedy,” Lafayette went on, and Alex breathed a sigh of relief. “It was somehow like water, very thin, but also fatty? It was so bad, Alex. How did you do this?”

After a surprisingly large group of customers came in just after eleven, they settled back into a lull. Alex retrieved his new notebook from under the counter, filled with his notes on drink recipes. He had thirty-seven, and found himself thinking of Thomas saying he tried to focus on just a few things at once. Alex took a deep breath, grabbed his notebook, and headed into the kitchen.

John was washing dishes, while Hercules paced in front of the ovens, muttering to himself and looking through their windows. Alex sidled over to the sinks.

“What’s he doing?” he asked, and John grinned at him, playfully flicked droplets of water in his direction as a hello.

“New recipe. He has to babysit them while they’re in the oven, he says.”

“Speaking of recipes,” Alex said, jumping on the segue, “would you mind taking a look at something for me? I was thinking about new drinks, that’re Christmas themed? I came up with a lot of ideas, but I think it’s too many to focus on, but I’m not sure how to tell what would be the right ones to, y’know, focus on. And you’re a baker, and know about flavours and stuff, maybe you could look? And tell me which ones you think would be a good place to start?” He was waving his notebook around a little too enthusiastically, he realized, and abruptly dropped his hand to his side. “Uh. If you’re not busy.”

“It’s always time to take a break from dishes.” John dried his hands, reached for the notebook and started flipping through it. He made thoughtful little sounds, crossed the kitchen to the big workspace and, taking the pen Alex had tucked between the pages of the notebook, began making little marks on the list. Alex took a few steps closer, then a few more, until he was hovering at John’s elbow. He wasn’t watching John write, exactly; he was studying the tiny freckles on John’s hand, the way John bit his lip as he thought, the curl of hair that had gotten lose and brushed his cheekbone.

After a few minutes, John had circled his ten choices, with a few added notes. “Maybe,” he added, ducking his head as he watched Alex read it, “introduce two new ones at once? A new set every couple weeks?”

“That’s a good idea.” Alex could picture doing that; just two new little projects. Maybe Thomas was right, because thinking about two somehow filled Alex with eagerness to start, instead of his usual anxious anticipation of all the work to come. It felt manageable; he barely recognized the feeling.


	4. Chapter 4

 

When Alex arrived at work the next day, something felt off. For starters, Lafayette wasn’t already there; when Alex pulled on the front door, he was startled to have it rattle in place instead of open. Alex had to knock until Hercules emerged from the kitchen to let him in.

“That time already?” Hercules looked up and down the empty sidewalk as Alex entered the shop, brushing snow from his coat. “Where’s Laf?”

“I’m not sure. Is he late often?”

“Not really, no.” With a last concerned look down the street, Hercules pulled the door closed again. Alex started the list of opening duties, one eye on the door for Lafayette, who failed to arrive even after the coffee house officially opened for the day. Alex had, admittedly, been looking forward to telling Lafayette that he’d asked for John’s help with the holiday drinks project.

There were more customers than Alex was really prepared to handle alone, but fifteen minutes in, he felt a hand at his back, and the scent of pastry told him who it was.

“Need a hand?” John asked, and, without waiting for an answer, headed over to the cash register. The line grew at an alarming rate as orders piled up, and Alex was actually relieved to hear Aaron’s voice before long, despite its unhappy tone.

“Where is Lafayette?” he asked, tying on his apron as he stepped behind the counter. He didn’t seem to expect an answer, immediately busy with taking orders from down the line so he could get started pulling espresso shots and mixing drinks.

“Still nothing?” Alex whispered to John, as he paused for a moment to wait for a blended drink to finish – in the winter, no less, the customer had to be out of their mind to order that – and John shook his head.

“I texted him, but I haven’t heard anything.” It was a stupid moment to feel jealous, but Alex was nothing if not a mess of bad timing, and he wished he was that friendly with either of them. He desperately wanted to be able to text either _where are you, are you ok?_ if the situation called for it, felt useless compared to everyone else, who had an actual way to contact Lafayette.

Lafayette didn’t show up until eleven AM, and when he did appear, it was with a suitcase and overall weariness.

“Good morning,” Aaron said tartly. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Lafayette sounded out of breath. “I’ll be right back.” He dragged his suitcase to the back of the store, up the stairs, and then reappeared a few moments later.

“Are you moving in?” Aaron asked. He began making a drink that would doubtlessly accompany him back to his office once he left to do paperwork.

“Moving out!” Lafayette grabbed his apron on the way over, but just stood with it in his hand, like he’d forgotten what he was going to do with it. “Apparently this sub-lease I have isn’t allowed! I was renting a room from a guy I found online, but today he comes and says his landlord found out, and had not known the whole time! I didn’t know that! And I have to be out today, because it is not allowed and he doesn’t want to being in trouble, and-”

“Aren’t there laws about eviction?” Alex asked, and Lafayette sighed heavily.

“Alex,” he said, with a weary look, “even if he gave me more time, what I am going to do? I found this guy online a month ago, because my lease ended, and that was the only thing I could find.”

“What _are_ you going to do?” Alex asked; he found himself hoping Lafayette would say ‘stay with a friend – maybe you?’ because Alex would be happy to have him as a however-temporary roommate. Offering seemed – weird, maybe. They weren’t _really_ friends, Lafayette had plenty of real, actual friends.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Lafayette finally put on his apron, and moved to the cash register when the front door opened to admit new customers.

Alex waited for a few hours, rephrasing the question over and over in his mind. He didn’t want to overestimate their friendship; maybe Lafayette would be uncomfortable with it, and feel pressured to accept because Alex was offering, maybe it would seem like Alex was being patronizing, or – he was overthinking it, he was sure of it.

He still hadn’t said anything as the end of their shift approached. It was stupid, to suddenly be nervous to _talk._ Alex had never cared about that, had always ranted with abandon, never one to be at a loss for words. But – this was his friend, sort of. That wasn’t exactly something he was familiar with.

“Hey,” he finally ventured, as Lafayette restocked the cups. Lafayette seemed distracted, as he had all day, doubtlessly due to his new living situation, or lack thereof. “Um, please don’t feel obligated, or anything, but…” Alex felt himself turning red. People did this all the time, offered to do favours for their friends, he could do this. “Um. If you want, you could… come stay with me? My place is a studio, but, it’s not that bad, and I’d be happy to have you, if you wanted-”

“Alex,” Lafayette cut in. Alex was relieved to see Lafayette was smiling. “That is so nice of you! Are you sure? I don’t want to be imposing.” Alex nodded eagerly, and was surprised when Lafayette yanked him into a hug. “You are the best, Alex! It won’t be for long, I promise, and I will pay rent starting immediate, _bien sûr._ So, where do we live?”

“Not far from here,” Alex felt himself blushing again. He shouldn’t be so excited, but this felt like having a friend, a close one, and he just felt so – so _not alone._ When he told Lafayette the neighborhood, Lafayette was off and listing restaurants he knew in the area where they could stop and grab takeout for dinner.

The John’s showed up right on time for the closing shift – Adams and Jay, the former not a particularly big fan of Alex’s, and the latter more inclined to be friendly but only sometimes – and Alex was again glad he had been given the opening shift. He liked the morning best, greeting everyone at the start of their day, the pastry case filled with wonderfully fragrant, fresh-baked goods, the morning bustle in full swing. And, admittedly, coinciding with the bakers’ shift. The coffee house stayed open into the evening, attracting pedestrians seeking warm drinks, couples wanting to prolong date nights, the post-show crowd from nearby theaters. Alex had worked a couple closing shifts, but had found the kitchen’s emptiness lonely.

Going home with a companion at his side filled Alex with an unexpected amount of joy; it didn’t _matter_ that no one was there at home waiting for him, he had a friend coming home with him. Lafayette chatted happily throughout the subway ride, guided him eagerly into a Japanese restaurant so Lafayette could buy them dinner, and followed him upstairs to the studio, dragging his gigantic suitcase along after himself. The friend-of-a-friend he’d been subleasing from had grudgingly allowed him to leave a few bulkier things in the apartment for the time being, but, Lafayette explained, he’d only moved from France relatively recently and hadn’t brought all that much stuff anyways.

Alex swung the door open, and froze just past the threshold. He’d forgotten what his apartment looked like, had been so unable to face the evidence of his previous – real? – life that he’d shoved it all together hastily, had been left with a shrine to his failure piled on the side table and the floor beside it. Books, notebooks, heaps of papers, textbooks; Lafayette set his suitcase beside the door, took the takeout bags from Alex and brought them over to the counter. From there, it was easy to see the small, ruined library that occupied the table beside the couch.

“Oh, you’re in school?” he asked lightly, as he began to unpack the takeout.  

“I, um. I, yeah, well. Not – now. Anymore. There – there was –” Alex was stammering, face heating, heart rate starting to rise anxiously.

“Alex,” Lafayette cut in gently, “Alex. I am your friend! That means you can tell me everything, but also, you don’t have to tell me anything. _Viens,_ you have to try these scallops. Well, the sauce. The scallops are just the vehicle.”

Just like that, Alex could breathe again. He should have known Lafayette wouldn’t insist.

“I’m taking a break from it all,” he said, going to take plates from the cabinet, since the flimsy takeout containers looked ready to fall apart, “it sort of got to be too much for me. Where are these amazing scallops?”

They’d just brought their plates to the couch, Lafayette going through the Netflix options even before he sat down, when Alex remembered the earlier triumph he’d been wanting to tell Lafayette about that morning.

“Remember how you said I should get John’s help with my new holiday drinks?” he said, and Lafayette grinned at him.

“Why yes, I do remember this.”

Alex described the drinks John had come up with, Lafayette eager to provide ideas for their recipes. They watched terrible TV and devised recipes late into the night, and when Alex finally dropped into bed, still snickering over Lafayette’s declaration that putting a kitchen towel in the oven was an honest mistake that could happen to _anyone,_ Alex was just so unfamiliarly happy _._

“ _Bonne nuit,_ Alex!” Lafayette called over from his makeshift bed on the couch. “Have sweet dreams not about kitchen mistakes that could happen to anyone.”

And Alex dreamed about just that; he dreamed that he was at the coffee house. Lafayette was in the kitchen, singing in French and tossing a smoking kitchen towel into the sink. Thomas was there, too, sitting at the counter with a row of coffee samples in front of him, holding up signs with scores as he tasted each one. All the scores were ones or twos, but he grinned after each to tell Alex he was joking.

            At some point, the pleasant dream morphed into something worse – a panel of judges, his research up on slides, Alex arguing until he went hoarse – and when he jolted awake, he wasn’t alone.

            “Alex,” Lafayette’s sleepy voice came through the dark, from the other side of the room, “Alex, _tout es OK,_ go to sleep.”

            And Alex – dreamlessly, peacefully – slept.   


	5. Chapter 5

 

            Friday afternoon, Alex was zeroing in on the perfect gingerbread latte. He’d admittedly had a fair bit of help, mostly from Lafayette, who had come back to the apartment with groceries the day after moving in, eager to get started on the recipes they’d worked on the night before. And, Alex was proud to say, he’d had help from John, because he’d slipped into the kitchen a few times and asked John’s opinion. Sure, the conversations were quite short, in between batches of cookies and pastries, but John was eager to offer ideas. Alex had even successfully kept the recipe-crafting project from Aaron, who occasionally left the office to help during particularly busy times.

            It had been a great day, really, and Alex wasn’t at all prepared to see the next customer who walked up to the counter.

            “ _Hamilton?_ ” James Madison was as surprised to see him as Thomas had been, although his surprise decidedly did not share Thomas’s relieved note. James was not pleased to see Alex was doing better, and certainly hadn’t been worrying about him. He looked startled, and like his morning had just taken a downturn. Thomas had looked like a weight was lifted from his shoulders.

            “What can I get you?” Alex asked flatly. Surely Madison knew what had happened; he’d been at the competition too. His research overlapped with Thomas’s, and they often worked together; he hadn’t been a fan of Alex’s.

            “So this is where you went,” James arched an eyebrow, “I’d heard you’d had some kind of nervous breakdown.” Not worried; not even surprised. Alex resisted the urge to fidget with his apron, and scowled at James. James didn’t look any happier to see him, like he was angry Alex had disturbed his coffee ritual, just as Alex had meddled in his thesis work.

            “Do you _want_ something?” He didn’t like the way this felt, not at all; he’d never liked James Madison, who had once seemed so friendly. Granted, it had been Alex’s paper attacking James’s research that made James withdraw his friendliness, but Alex had just – he hadn’t agreed, he’d wanted to write about it, he needed people to know the real facts. He’d actually managed to point out that James’s research was faulty; it had apparently set James back several months in his work and Alex just hadn’t really thought about how that could make someone hate him. He’d assumed James shared his views on the sanctity of research, the responsibility inherent in data production.

            “Large coffee. Black.” He handed over a bill, watched as Alex made change, hopefully didn’t notice Alex’s hands shaking just a little. Alex fixed his coffee, grateful it wasn’t anything more elaborate, just wanted James to leave as soon as possible.

 “Maybe now I can get my goddamn thesis done without you taking it upon yourself to tell everyone how wrong I am,” James snapped when Alex handed over his coffee, in lieu of a thank you, and okay, so Alex had cost him a few months – or had it been six? – but _James_ had been in the wrong. He’d been the one practically faking data, with how skewed his samples were, and Alex _had_ to write about it.

            “You _were_ wrong,” Alex felt obligated to point out, and James glowered at him for it.

            “ _Who fucking cares,”_ he snarled, “it’s a thesis, Hamilton, it’s not the end of the goddamn world. I had shit lined up for afterwards, and I didn’t factor in having to _start over_ because some interfering asshole decided it was his job to involve every committee he could think of because he didn’t like my _sampling._ I was relieved when Jefferson told me you’d apparently quit and become a barista, because now I might actually finish the damn thing.”

            Maybe he’d meant to hurt Alex with all the rest, but it was the offhand comment about Thomas that made Alex freeze. “Jefferson?” he repeated faintly. Thomas had _told_ him? Why would he tell _James_ about that? Alex was so – so _hurt,_ and he’d been so stupid, hadn’t he, trusting Thomas despite his actions being a complete reversal of how he usually acted. Why had Alex believed him?

            James was through talking, though; he stormed out of the coffee house, and if the slow-moving doors had allowed him to, he probably would have slammed them shut behind him. Alex was still standing motionless when Lafayette returned from the breakroom a few minutes later.

            “Hey, do you have Thomas Jefferson’s number?” he asked, and Lafayette nodded.

            “I can send it to you.” He looked slightly perplexed, but took his phone from his pocket to do so. “Something is wrong? You look…” he trailed off, like he was searching for the right word and wasn’t sure what it was.

            “I’m fine, is it alright if I take my break now?”

            “ _Oui,_ of course.” Lafayette still look confused as Alex left. Alex headed for the breakroom, already taking out his phone. He didn’t bother saving Thomas’s number from Lafayette’s message, just copied it into a new message; it wasn’t like he was going to need it again.

            But in the end, he typed out ten different messages, and sent none of them. They were all variations of the same thing: _how could you_ and _why would you do that,_ and all sounded pathetic. If Thomas wasn’t his friend after all – _if,_ Alex kept thinking, even now, despite obvious evidence otherwise, how pathetic – what would he say back? He’d lie, obviously. He wouldn’t come out and say _oh, it’s because I don’t actually care what happens to you._ His further betrayal would come in the form of something else: silence, maybe, or an untrue _I didn’t tell him,_

            He was in a bad mood for the rest of his shift, and brought it home with him, too. He was surly and upset to the point that Lafayette didn’t attempt conversation on the way home. Lafayette did still sit beside Alex on the subway, though. Alex moped in silence until they got home, and only after Alex had sunk onto the couch did Lafayette say anything.

            “Are you okay?” he asked, and it took Alex a moment to put together why Lafayette looked nervous.

            “Yeah, yeah. It’s not you,” he said quickly, “it’s – Thomas fucking Jefferson, as usual.” Not that Lafayette would know that; he hadn’t been there, of course, the many times Alex had been infuriated by Thomas. This was different, but Lafayette wouldn’t know that either, that Alex was usually angry and not – not hurt _._ Thomas had _hurt_ him this time. This was so much worse.

            “Thomas?” Lafayette’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Did he come by today?”

            “No, Madison did.”

            “Who is she?”

            “No, James Madison. It’s – a long story.” Alex slunk further down on the couch. Lafayette joined him, grabbed the blanket off the arm of the couch and draped it over Alex where he was curled in misery. Alex finally felt some of the tension seep out of him, pressed his cheek against the soft gray fabric.

Outside, it had begun snowing, and the apartment somehow felt cozy, as if it had a fireplace with a roaring fire, or whatever else cozy houses had. Alex was fine here; he should have known better, trying to bring any part of his past life – Jefferson included, Jefferson especially – into his present. Running away would work if he ran fast enough, after all.

~~

            It all caught up with him again, in the form of a text from Thomas Jefferson, just two days later. Alex thought he was over it, but seeing the name on his screen made him flinch, and suddenly, he wasn’t removed from it at all. He may have been at home, safe in his bed and alone in the apartment, but he felt like he was back to being torn apart.

            _Hey it’s Thomas Jefferson,_ his text read, as nonchalant as if he’d done nothing wrong, _got thanksgiving plans? I’m having a bunch of people over for it, would you come?_

            Even better: Thomas Jefferson, not only pretending to still be Alex’s friend – not that he’d ever been, not really – but also bringing with him a reminder of the holiday. Every year, Alex did his best to ignore both Thanksgiving and Christmas; he hated them, with the heartsick longing of an orphan who had no one. Which he was. Sometimes he forgot, plowing through his life at breakneck speed, and he felt like any other student – too busy to call home, parents out of sight so out of mind. When he slowed down, he remembered: he had none. He had no one. His mother wasn’t a phone call away and happy to hear from him despite a period of being too busy to call her; she was dead. His mother, who sang him what she called _his_ song and he’d thought no one knew it but the two of them, who had long hair and soft hands, who called him _my bumblebee,_ was dead.

The last couple of holidays had been different, admittedly. Alex had been dating Eliza, and before – before everything, all that happened between them – Alex had borrowed a family. There had been Eliza and Angelica and their parents and younger sister, there had been people around and a home to go to and Alex hadn’t been alone, although – although he had been, a little, because he’d known he was clinging to a spot that wasn’t truly his for the keeping. That became too clear to ignore, eventually, but they were still the two best years of holidays Alex had ever had.

And now, Thomas _fucking_ Jefferson had to remind Alex what was coming up in just a few days. Alex wanted to write back and tell Thomas that Alex _knew_ he’d been faking it, that they weren’t really friends, that he knew Thomas had told _James Madison,_ of all people, about Alex being such a mess that he abandoned his whole life.

In the end, Alex, prolific Alex, said nothing. He blocked Thomas’s number and tried not to think about the holidays, and how much he missed his mother.

 

The holiday spirit was relentless; before three days had gone by, Alex had a voicemail from Eliza he was avoiding listening to, and Lafayette pleading with him to come to what was probably a Friendsgiving but Lafayette kept calling a “Friendsiving.”

“It’s a _Friendsgiving,”_ Alex finally told him, didn’t look up from the drink he was stirring with a wooden stirring stick. The breakroom had been too quiet, so he was taking his break at the counter bar, drinking his latest version of the gingerbread latte; they had recently become not just bearable, but quite good. “And it’s really nice of you to invite me, but I really can’t go.”

“ _Alex,”_ Lafayette whined; Alex was thankfully saved from having to come up with an excuse when a few customers came in. He used the opportunity to busy himself with his phone, but that just reminded him of Eliza’s message. So – fine. Maybe it was time to stop avoiding things; Thanksgiving was the next day, and he had a feeling he already knew what she had called to say. He listened.

“Hey, Alex. Um, well. Hi! I know it’s been a while, but Thanksgiving is coming up and… and I know we’re not together, but I would still love it if you came to Thanksgiving. Angelica will be there, and, um. She told me you’ve taken some time off, and I just wanted to see if you’re alright, and all. I hope you’re doing okay. Please come to Thanksgiving! Okay, um. Bye!”

Alex’s heart ached at the sound of her voice. He loved Eliza. He did. But she just – she wasn’t the one. It had been a realization he’d been keeping at arm’s length for nearly two years and then – well, then he’d had to face it.

“Hey, Alex.” A different voice this time; John, appearing at Alex’s elbow, already wearing his jacket and ready to leave for the day. “Um, are you busy tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” Alex blinked in surprise. “No?” It seemed like the right answer, because John brightened, cheeks pink.

“Awesome! I’ll see you then!” He darted for the door after that, leaving Alex watching after him in happy confusion.

“So suddenly you _aren’t_ busy?” Lafayette teased, smirking at Alex from across the counter. “How _interesting!”_

“Oh,” Alex reddened, suddenly realizing how much of an asshole he was being and feeling _terrible._ “Laf, no, I’m – I’m sorry. I just – I’m sorry. I’d like to spend it with you! I would! Just – a lot of new people sounds kind of scary right now and I’m just –” God, he felt so _bad._ This was why he didn’t have friends.

“Alex,” Lafayette interrupted, somehow didn’t seem upset, “it’s okay, please don’t worry. Like I said, I am your friend. You can tell me the real reasons for things! I understand.” How had Alex managed to find a friend like Lafayette? And Lafayette somehow also knew that Alex needed constant reminding that they were friends. “Besides,” Lafayette added, smirking some more, “you have a _date.”_

“It’s not a date!”

“Uh-huh.”

“But,” the realization hit Alex abruptly, and he nearly wanted to panic at the sudden hit the plan was taking, “how will he know where I live? He didn’t ask me.” Lafayette laughed so hard he had to hold onto the counter to keep himself standing. “For real, Laf! What if that means he won’t come?”

“I’m sure he’ll realize this soon and text me.”

“Oh. Right.” Alex relaxed some. “You could also text him first. Just to be really sure.”

“Of course,” Lafayette said indulgently. Alex stared pointedly until Lafayette pulled out his phone to text John. But, of course Lafayette did; he really was a good friend to Alex already, even though Alex had known him less than a month. “Are you planning on working again today?” Lafayette asked when he’d put his phone back in his pocket, shooting Alex a grin. “Or you are too busy thinking about your date?”

“It’s not a date,” Alex slid off the stool, went to grab his apron back from its peg. “It’s a low-key hangout.” All the same, he was already adding a mental note to his to-do list; he would have to stop by the store and get actual food, because although John hadn’t specified a time, or duration, or meal, it _was_ Thanksgiving, and they’d probably want to eat something. Not that he had any ideas about what to get, to impress a baker no less, but maybe inspiration would strike while he was at the store.

Suddenly, looking out at the twinkling lights and Christmas tree, the swirling snow outside, all the holiday reminders that he usually shrank from, Alex didn’t feel quite so lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the grad school stuff is all very vague because i know nothing about it and couldn't quite answer my questions by looking online! I haven't actually ever written a thesis or been to grad school (i took the slightly less conventional post-bachelor's route of 'suddenly go to trade school instead because why not??') 
> 
> hope it's going well!!!! let me know!!! :)


	6. Chapter 6

Alex was woken by his phone ringing on Thanksgiving morning. He ignored it; the process repeated three times, and he would have let it keep going if Lafayette didn’t call over “Alexander, I will kill you!” which almost functioned as moral support. When Alex grabbed the phone on the fourth round of ringing, he wasn’t surprised to see Angelica’s name on the display. Her tenacity was unmatched by anyone’s; maybe Alex could have been considered her equal, except that she was still going strong and he’d been – well. Before he could even yawn out a greeting, she was talking.

            “I know Eliza called you, and you didn’t get back to her. Does that mean you aren’t coming today?”

            “Ang…” He pushed his face into the pillow, took a slow breath. “I just don’t… it’s too soon. It’d be too hard to see her, and everyone.” It would hurt; it would be reinserting himself into the future that could have been his, almost _was,_ the one he’d painfully realized wasn’t what he wanted, not exactly. To see how close he’d gotten to accepting what was wrong for him just because it was packaged as a family – it only showed him how lonely he was. He knew that if Angelica had it her way, he would still be part of their family in some weird, offshoot way, that he’d come to family holidays even when it was already attended by Eliza’s future actual husband, and their children –

            He couldn’t think about it. He could feel the edges start to close in around him, and impulsively, he slid out of bed and hesitantly approached the couch instead. Lafayette was already sitting up, yawning and scrolling through his phone, still buried within mounds of blankets. He spotted Alex lingering, and wordlessly moved to one side, holding up the corner of the comforter. Alex crawled under to sit beside him, some of the anxiety washing out with the receding tide.

            “I get it, I promise,” Angelica was saying, “I just wanted to see what you’re up to today.” She wanted to make sure he wasn’t alone; he was someone to check up on, and he hated being the suffering friend, the victim of everything. And Angelica didn’t even _know_ what had happened; to her, he was just Eliza’s lonely orphan ex-boyfriend who had taken a break from his usual activities. That alone was enough; if Angelica knew he’d had a complete nervous breakdown not even two months ago, if she knew he was only free of the panic attacks now because he’d run away from literally every aspect of his old life, if she knew that his only coping technique was to pretend to start over so he could distance himself from _himself –_

            “My friend’s coming over later. I won’t be by myself.” He was grateful he could say that and mean it, that he wouldn’t be hanging up after lying to her and feeling not just guilty but heartbroken it hadn’t been true. “I’ve also got a roommate now,” he added, because Lafayette was right there, and even though he wasn’t really doing anything, it was still really, really nice to have company.

            “I’m glad to hear that,” Angelica sounded outright relieved. Part of him was embarrassed, but the other part was, admittedly, also thrilled with his current situation. He had people around him that he really, really liked; sure, some things hadn’t changed – he was and always would be an orphan, didn’t know how to proceed in his life without returning to where he’d been before, still had no way of handling his previous life – but having a support system, even a tiny one, was a weight off his shoulders. He’d always had Angelica, of course, but her being Eliza’s sister had always made it feel a tiny bit conditional – how would things proceed, now that he wasn’t with Eliza anymore? She was Eliza’s sister first. Alex was no one’s first priority.

            Angelica said goodbye before long, and Alex sat with his phone in his hands for a long moment afterwards. Lafayette was the first to break the silence.

            “You are having an ex-girlfriend?” he asked, sounded like he was treading lightly. Alex nodded.

            “We were together for a couple years. It’s been over for almost two months. Why do you look…” Alex scrutinized Lafayette’s face and the odd expression on it, “disappointed?”

            “No! No, I am not disappointed! I mean, I am sad for you, and this breaking up-”

            “ _But?”_ He had a guess; it was hard to keep from smiling, and he bit his lip.

            “But _Alexander,”_ Lafayette flopped back against the back of the couch, sighed up at the ceiling. It was creaking slightly, the upstairs neighbor either walking around, or hosting a parade. “I thought I was seeing things between you and John Laurens! I imagined this?” He looked crestfallen, and Alex finally did laugh. Sure, he may not have been emotionally ready to even consider dating anyone yet, but Lafayette’s dream was far from dead.

            “I’m not straight, Laf,” Alex clarified, “I mean, yeah, I did date Eliza for two years and it wasn’t just out of denial or anything,” it was the closest he could get to outright explaining how yes, he had loved her, despite not being _the one_ for each other. “But I’m bi, so. It could just as easily be a guy that I date.” Amidst all the other things Alex had to worry about throughout his life, his sexuality had seemed insignificant, merely a vague wondering about whether he’d end up with a man or woman, a generally stronger preference for men but a parallel attraction to women too. Beside his devastatingly strong desire for a family, the gender of his partner had felt unimportant, merely a blurry detail in the future he hungered for. For a moment, it had seemed like it could be Eliza; for a shorter moment, it had seemed like it _would_ be Eliza.

            “Oh, Alexander,” Lafayette sighed again, this time sounding relieved. “This is good. I didn’t want to be the one telling our sweet little baker –” he cut himself off, avoiding Alex’s suspicious look.

            “Does John…” Alex started, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer out loud. Right now, the way things were – it was undefined, new taking shape slowly, gently. It was John’s shy smiles and the way he playfully flicked kitchen towels at Alex when he passed; it was the scent of pastry baking and coffee brewing, the low light of early mornings. For the first time, Alex was comforted by a lack of parameters; the idea that something could become anything at all seemed reassuring, not overwhelming. “He has my address, right?” Alex checked instead.

            “Of course! I would never let John wander New York looking for you,” Lafayette reassured, “I will send him right to your door.”

 --

            As promised, John appeared at Alex’s front door, just past noon. He was damp from the snow and carried a paper bag in his arms, but beamed when Alex opened the door for him.

            “Lafayette told me where you lived,” he blurted immediately, in lieu of a greeting; when he blushed, his freckled stood out against his tan skin. “In case you’re wondering how I guessed the right apartment in all of New York.”

“I just thought you were a really, really good guesser.” Alex stood back to let John into the apartment. He’d done some cleaning in anticipation, and the apartment smelled welcomingly of the apple bread he’d made. It was the only thing he could bake; he vaguely remembered his mother making something similar, and although it was an internet recipe and not a family one, he was still proud of his work. He’d also spent a probably embarrassing amount of time deciding what to wear – jeans, a long-sleeve shirt he liked to think made his arms look nice – and whether to slick his hair back or not – too try-hard, he stuck with a ponytail – and even then had had a lot of time to pace around waiting. It felt more like eagerness than anxiety though, like something in his chest had calmed down, happy to await whatever came.

“I thought I’d make us dinner and stuff,” John was saying as he unpaacked his grocery bag, opening the refrigerator and moving around the kitchen like he owned it, pausing to struggle out of his coat and let Alex take it from his hands. John pushed back the sleeves of his zip-up jacket, brushed a stray curl out of his face. “I’m a good cook,” he assured, as Alex tried to remember where the coat hooks were in his own apartment.

“You’re a good baker,” Alex agreed, “so, that makes sense.”

“You should have seen when it wasn’t! I could do great pastries and things, but all my dinner foods had weird spices that didn’t go together and weren’t cooked for the right amount of time. Sometimes, it feels like cooking and baking have nothing to do with each other.”

Alex slid onto a counter stool when John waved away his offer to help, happier to have an audience than someone else in the tiny kitchen. It was probably better that way; Alex had only barely made it through his bread recipe, and if it had included anything even as complicated as yeast, he would have been lost. John was like a live cooking show, explaining his dishes to Alex as he went.

“I hate turkey,” he said as he stirred a pot on the stove; it had shredded chicken and barbeque sauce, since he’d declared that the only proper way to make turkey was to not make it at all. “It’s so dry, and it kind of tastes like nothing. I’ve heard about people deep frying them though, which is probably the only acceptable way to do it. I don’t know why everyone decided that turkey was the only acceptable thing for Thanksgiving, even after they’d tasted it and realized it was nothing special. Tradition, probably.” He wrinkled his freckled nose. Alex, chin propped in his hand, tried not to openly gaze.

“People are pretty attached to tradition. It’s weird from the outside, I saw a lot of different little traditions in my foster homes and it seems so personal.” He was surprised to hear the words from his lips; it wasn’t exactly something he went around freely talking about. Alex tried to avoid letting people know that not only was he decidedly a “foster” and not “adopted” child, but that he’d failed to have any long-lasting placements. People would look at him sympathetically, and he could see them recategorize him as an orphan even as they floundered for something to say.

“Foster homes, huh?” John asked right out, and though there was sympathy in his eyes, he didn’t look much different from usual. He always looked at people like he was thinking about ways he could make their day better. Alex gave a tiny nod, still unsure how to talk about it, despite the best reception he’d gotten yet. “That must have been hard. On like, a peripheral level, I get it. I don’t hear from my parents anymore, and them doing all their old traditions back at home makes me feel like an outsider.”

“What happened?” He probably shouldn’t have blurted that out, Alex realized, feeling himself turn red. John didn’t seem offended, just sighed as he took the small pot off the stove, turned on the oven to toast bread.

“Oh, they’re very Republican. My dad’s doing his congressional campaign, the whole thing.”

“And you’re very Democratic?” Alex guessed, not seeing the connection. John smiled with what looked like a lot of genuine amusement. He had dimples, of _course_ he would have dimples.

“Very _gay,_ unless ‘very Democratic’ is the new idiom for it,” he said, nonchalant; if Alex had been drinking something, he probably would have choked on it. “Is that what an idiom is?” John went on pondering, humming thoughtfully to himself. He seemed completely unbothered at the confession – though he’d hardly treated it like that – that Alex’s questioning had produced. Alex didn’t know the etiquette around coming out; did it have an etiquette? The only person he’d ever talked to about his own sexuality was Lafayette, all of three hours ago. Had that really been the first time, he suddenly wondered, and realized it was. It had never come up with Eliza. No one else had ever been close enough to him to wonder. “What?” John’s voice made Alex startle; John, despite cheerful moments before, now looked worried, hesitant. Probably because he’d announced he was gay, and Alex had gone silent.

“Nothing, just, thinking? I told Laf I was bi this morning,” Alex babbled out, “I haven’t told anyone before. Except you, now. This is all really weird for me.”

“Being out?”

“No, having… people.” Alex frowned, gaze dropping to his hands in his lap. “I mean, I had Eliza – my ex-girlfriend – and we were close, sort of, but now that everything happened, there’s suddenly all these people who really _know_ me.” It was like his nervous breakdown had taken away his strength to hold people at arm’s length; it wasn’t an entirely bad result. “But anyways. That sucks about your family being shitty to you. I’m, um. I’m glad you’re doing Thanksgiving with me.” John beamed at him, going from concerned to lit up with joy in seconds.

“Me too.”

 It was the best Thanksgiving Alex had ever had, and possibly one of the best days, too. They had dinner and talked through a couple movies and drank terrible wine because John insisted holidays were for _wine_ and not beer, and when it started to snow outside, John talked him into turning the couch around to face the window so they could watch the snow. Alex was pretty sure that Lafayette wouldn’t mind that they were using his comforter, given that it was wrapped around the both of them as they drank wine and watched the falling snow; Alex was confident that Lafayette would probably sob with joy if he saw them at the moment.

“Do you want to be like, head baker one day?” Alex asked, and John nodded, made a pleased little sound.

“That would be cool. Honestly, I’d be happy working for Washington forever. He’s the guy that owns the place. And Herc might want to start his own catering company, instead of working in a bakery, so then I might get to be the main baker? I think I’d be alright at it,” John was blushing pink, all the way to the tips of his ears, visible when he tucked stray curls behind them.

“You’re an awesome baker, of course you would!”

“You don’t know who bakes what,” John pointed out, “maybe you just like Herc’s baking.”

“Oh, no, you’ll have to bake things for me specially now, so I can know for sure.”

“I’ll make you stuff to go with your new holiday drinks,” John bumped his shoulder into Alex’s. “Those sound cool, did you ask Aaron about it?”

“Naah, I was thinking maybe I’d just… do it?” Alex said, and John all-but giggled.

“He just comes in one day, new signs everywhere, line out the door, he’d lose his whole mind.” John shook his head, and he leaned over to bump Alex again, but stayed there. “You have so many great ideas, why aren’t you doing like – something else? I mean, obviously there’s nothing wrong with working there – I work there, and I’m great – but I was just curious.”

“I kind of just walked in and applied,” Alex said, meaning to leave it there, but when he looked at John, John’s eyes were bright with curiosity and care and Alex felt – felt safe. “I was getting my master’s degree, in political science, and I double majored before that, but I was kind of all over the place. I wanted to do everything, and make a huge difference, and I didn’t really have one direction? It was hard, and at the same time, I was with Eliza and, and she told me she was pregnant, and it made me realize –” he took a breath, realizing he’d been babbling, but it was hard to talk about. Hard, but not impossible, John leaned against him; at some point, his hand had settled on Alex’s arm, comforting.

“I wanted a family _so badly,_ but now that it was about to happen, I realized I wasn’t in love with her. I loved her, but I wasn’t – she wasn’t the one. And I was a _wreck,_ an absolute fucking wreck, because I wanted both things so badly and now one was happening but I realized I wasn’t in love with her and I just wanted a family. But then – then it turned out she wasn’t pregnant, and I had to break up with her because I couldn’t do that to her, she deserves someone that’s in love with her. But then I had _nothing,_ and it was just – it was too much. I was prepared to stay with someone I wasn’t in love with just to have a whole family, and it just – it made me face how lonely I was. I had a nervous breakdown at a thesis competition, and after I got out of the hospital, I just didn’t go back. To any of it. I can’t, I have panic attacks when I think about any of it too much.”

And John – John breathes “oh, Alex,” holds his hand, and doesn’t ask questions. Alex sinks his head down to John’s shoulder, watching the snow swirling outside.

“I don’t think I’m coping with any of it. I think I’m just avoiding it. This is _way_ too much to put on you, isn’t it?” Alex jerked his head up, “I’m sorry. This is way too much for just hanging out-”

“I want to know,” John squeezed Alex’s hand. “We’re friends. I came over because I want to know you better, not to stay acquaintances. You’re fine.” He smiled a crooked little smile. “Would you feel better if I told you more about me, too?” He settled back into the comforter; Alex put his head back down. “I know what you mean about being lonely. I’m not an orphan, but I feel like I lost everyone in a different way, where they just want to be lost. I get upset about it sometimes, because they’re choosing to do this, and then I just feel like, betrayed.” He reached for his glass from the side table, snickered when he saw it was still full. “I can’t even blame it on being drunk, dude, this wine is so shitty we’ve hardly had any.”

“It’s so, so bad,” Alex agreed, felt it when John laughed. “It was a gift, okay! I mean, I bought it _as_ a gift, thank God I didn’t actually give it to them. It was for a professor’s party or whatever, and I forgot it.”

“Good thing, they would have expelled you on bad taste alone.” John touched Alex’s arm with his other hand, kept it there for a moment. “This isn’t a special occasion thing, by the way. This is a, like… start of us being friends who talk about whatever. If you’re having a bad day, just come into the kitchen and tell me. Or call me. I’d cross the whole city to give you a hug,” John grinned, and his eyes were so earnest; Alex wanted to melt into grateful sobs.

He was sunk; John was so sweet and caring and wonderful, Alex was going to end up head over heels for him, and it was scary. But John was here, holding Alex’s hand and smiling at him, like he was promising it was okay, it was safe to fall for him because John would be there to catch him.


	7. Chapter 7

Alex arrived to work bright and early Friday morning, in that it was so early the sun hadn’t yet risen, and the brightest thing around was John’s smile when he unlocked the front door for Alex. “It was such a good idea to do this on Black Friday,” John swung the door open wider to let Alex in, locking it again behind them. Alex had seen John only a handful of hours ago, but the sight of him, his apron smudged with chocolate and flour on his hands like he stopped in the middle of kneading to hurry over, still made Alex’s heart flood with a happy lightness.

“You’re sure he won’t fire me on the spot for this?” Alex asked, only half joking. John shook his head no vehemently. He followed Alex behind the counter, watched as Alex started taking supplies out of his backpack.

“Burr is way too practical to fire you for a profitable idea. Besides, I have a foolproof backup plan.”

“Oh merciful heavens!” Hercules yelled from the kitchen, “When will my apprentice return from the war? He’s been gone so very long and I am so terribly alone!”

“He’s the backup plan,” John took only two steps towards the kitchen before stopping again. “He loves your whole idea already, so I’m sure he’ll be down. If it goes really badly – which it won’t! – we’ll tell Burr it was Herc’s idea. He can’t fire Herc, so we’re fine! Plus, I literally guarantee it’ll go great.”

“So horribly alone!” Hercules all-but wailed, “baking croissants! Alone! With no help! Alone! Why have I been forsaken in this way?”

“Turn down the dramatics!” John yelled back, but got only a few steps closer again. “It’s a great idea, he’ll love it for sure,” John reassured again, finally ducking into the kitchen before Hercules could start another round of dramatics. Alex turned to his setup on the counter, still smiling. He had a collection of chalkboard pens from overkill class projects, and several garlands he’d made after John went to sleep late the previous night, strings of gingerbread men holding hands made of construction paper. He was pretty proud of them; he’d never been short of showmanship, and in a funny little way, it was a homecoming, a safe piece of who he was before.

Within two hours, Alex had redesigned the chalkboard sign and added a second one, strung his gingerbread man garlands around the shop, and put up little cutout signs in the pastry case. Implementing his idea on Black Friday had been John’s idea, and he would have stayed up all night to help Alex with his decorations if Alex hadn’t insisted John get some sleep before starting work early in the morning. John had made noises about going home, but Alex was sure Lafayette wouldn’t be back from his friend’s place; Lafayette would cheerfully sleep in his friend’s bathtub before coming home and potentially interrupting anything between Alex and John. Part of Alex had wanted to tell John to come sleep in the bed with him – nestle in against him, bury his face in John’s curls, and when they kept talking it wouldn’t even have to be louder than whispers, they were so close – but he’d refrained, settled for sleeping in the same room. And in the early, early morning, Alex had drifted in and out of sleep as he listened to the soft sounds of John leaving for work, somehow comforting and familiar though it had never happened before.

Alex’s usual start time was marked by the arrival of Lafayette, who was giving Alex knowing looks before he’d even closed the door behind himself. “How was your evening, Alexander?”

“Notice anything?” Alex prompted, sweeping an arm towards the new signs waiting to be put out as soon as the shop officially opened. Lafayette ignored them, beelining to the counter.

“ _How_ was your _evening,_ Alexander?” Lafayette smacked both hands down onto the counter, leaning across it to give Alex more pointed looks. Alex looked over his shoulder towards the kitchen; he could hear the faint din of dishwashing.

“Nothing like _that_ happened,” Alex whispered, “obviously. We just hung out. He stayed over and slept on the couch.” Lafayette still looked delighted, though.

“Talking all night long!” he gushed, sliding back off the countertop and finally noticing the signs waiting to be placed on the sidewalk. “These are very nice, John encouraged you to do your plan?” Alex would ask how Lafayette guessed that, but somehow wasn’t surprised.

“Hercules is in on it, too,” Alex filled him in, “he made tiny gingerbread and snickerdoodle cookies to go with them for free.” Or, he thought, remembering what John had said, maybe John was making them. Alex really didn’t know who made what in the kitchen, and was suddenly curious, wanted to know what _John’s_ baking tasted like.

“Gingerbread latte and snickerdoodle hot chocolate,” Lafayette read, still on the opposite side of the counter, apparently completely sidelined from actually starting work by all the new developments. “I liked both of these, this is a good idea.”

“I’m glad you approve. Are you going to open the register, or will we make it a ‘buy nothing, get everything free’ day?”

Lafayette snorted a laugh, circled around the counter to grab an apron, putting his loose mass of curls into a bun as he did. His were an entirely different texture than John’s, much bouncier with a lot more body; John’s hair, while also a mass of bushy curls, was softer. Alex assumed, anyways. It wasn’t like he’d touched it. He’d wanted to, maybe.

He was spending a _lot_ of time staring into space thinking about John’s hair, he realized abruptly, turning towards the counter before Lafayette could notice his dreamy gazing. His attempts to act normal were foiled when the sound of footsteps was followed by a hand on the small of his back.

“Here,” John offered a tiny gingerbread cookie on a napkin, “I made this.” Alex glanced up at him only briefly, but even then didn’t miss the blush on John’s cheeks.

“Thanks!” Alex was wrong about Lafayette being the psychic one, it was clearly John, hearing Alex’s thoughts about wanting to try his baking specifically. Or, well, it was entirely possible that Lafayette had been giving John lessons. Alex took the cookie, sampled it, and made pleased sounds. “You’re _great_ at this,” he said, and John’s pink blush turned scarlet.

“I _am_ a literal professional,” he said, but while he was probably going for deadpan teasing, it came out shy and pleased, praise-seeking.

“You’re also a talented one,” Alex added, and he saw dimples before John was fleeing for the kitchen. He was quickly replaced by Lafayette, trotting over to smirk at Alex.

“You were _flirty,”_ he declared, sounding delighted. “I would not be surprised if he is in the kitchen now, crying from happiness.”

“You exaggerate,” Alex rolled his eyes. If maybe, _maybe,_ John had a tiny crush on him, it was just a playful, lighthearted thing. Alex was willing to entertain that and no further; if he was realistic, after all, he wouldn’t be disappointed. This was enough, especially since it came alongside John outright telling him that they were friends.

The first part of the morning flew by; Alex was pleased to see that quite a few customers were ordering his new drinks on the menu, and that all seemed happy with them and their accompanying cookies. He even got lucky with Aaron’s arrival; Aaron was on the phone, didn’t even notice the new signage as he rushed to his office, absorbed in a phone call that sounded like it was with a catering client.

“Go get Aaron,” Lafayette whispered to him, only a half hour after Aaron had arrived. Alex frowned.

“Why? We got so lucky, he didn’t even notice the new drinks. Let him stay up there until it’s a huge success and he can’t hate it.”

“There’s Thea!” Lafayette discreetly tilted his head towards the line of customers; true enough, there was the woman Aaron was so infatuated with. Alex sighed, but headed for the stairs. At Aaron’s office, he knocked, pushed open the door.

“Lafayette wanted to know if you can come down and help with the line? We’re packed, it’s awesome,” Alex said, and Aaron nodded, typing furiously on his computer.

“That’s great,” he added a few more words, clicked a couple times, and then stood, following Alex down. By then, Thea was near the counter, and Aaron’s face lit up when he saw her. Lafayette slid away from the cash register in time for Aaron to take the next customer.

“You’re a regular cupid,” Alex whispered to Lafayette, who beamed and ignored Alex’s eye roll. When he looked over Alex’s shoulder, though, his smile fell abruptly. “What?”

“Oh, shit.” Lafayette gave a tiny nod towards the line, and Alex noticed the man standing beside Thea. Whoever he was, he was obviously someone close to her, because he was kissing her cheek, putting an arm around her waist as he spoke to her. Aaron must have noticed too, because when Alex looked at him, all the color had drained from his face.

“What can I get you?” Aaron managed, when the couple reached the counter. He steadfastedly avoided looking at Thea, who was staring determinedly at the counter; Alex couldn’t read her expression, but he’d guess something between guilt and apology.

“Hello,” the man said; even the one word betrayed a British accent. Did Thea have one as well? Alex thought he might have heard the faintest strains of one, like she was trying harder to suppress hers. “Could I have a medium coffee? With room for milk. And my wife will have – Theodosia?” he turned to Thea, “what was it?”

“A small caramel latte,” she said softly. Aaron looked devastated. Was he thinking about how this man – her _husband –_ didn’t know her drink order, but he did? How she’d never mentioned a husband and now looked ashamed?

Aaron reported their total, accepted the credit card and returned it, and told them their drinks would be ready at the end of the counter shortly. The man thanked him, stepped away; Thea lingered.

“I’m –” she said, eyes pleading, “I’m sorry.” She hurried to follow her husband, Aaron standing motionless. Lafayette quietly took his place at the register, and although Aaron looked ruined enough that he deserved to go hide in his office, he joined Alex at the counter instead, helping silently with drink orders. Alex made Thea and her husband’s drinks, and didn’t miss how Thea’s gaze drifted over his shoulder to Aaron.

When the rush of customers slowed down just after midday, Alex looked around to find Aaron had already escaped upstairs. “Should you go talk to him?” Alex asked Lafayette, since, well, Lafayette seemed to be good at that. Lafayette shrugged.

“He’s my boss, I don’t know if I should be doing that.”

“He just,” Alex looked towards the stairs. “It was so sad.”

“He does like her a lot. On slow days, she stays and talks to him for a long time. A few times, he takes his break when she is here. I guess she never says she has a husband.”

“I’m gonna…” Alex didn’t know what he was going to do, but Lafayette waved him on, so he headed upstairs, hoping he’d figure it out when he got there. The door was closed, and he got a flat “what” when he knocked. He took that as invitation enough, opened the door. “Hey,” he leaned through the doorway. Aaron was at his desk, pushing around paperwork.

“Hi, Alex.”

“I, uh. Wondered if you’d noticed the new drinks,” Alex was willing to sacrifice his precious new project, if it meant somehow making Aaron look a little less wrecked.

“Oh. Yeah. You’re not really supposed to do that without management’s approval.” There was no bite in it; Alex slid further into the room, perched on the chair before the desk.

“I figured. I wanted to apologize for that.” Well, he hadn’t planned on it, but it seemed like a nice thing to say.

“It’s fine. Hercules okayed it, that’s close enough.” He flipped a paper over, put it aside. Alex sat quietly for a moment.

“Are you okay?” he ventured; Aaron startled a little.

“Fine.”

“It just… y’know. What happened. It sucks.” Alex shifted in his seat, looking at the desk instead of at Aaron. “I know what it’s like to have the rug swept out from under you, you know? It’s shitty.” He really did; the sudden drop, the sickening roil, it was a familiar feeling. It had found its way to Alex in many forms: being shuffled to another foster family when he’d thought maybe he’d get to stay this time, finding out the kids he followed around hoping to be friends with hadn’t invited him to a sleepover, being told his date wasn’t actually ready to be going out with anyone but seeing them with someone just a few days later, trusting Thomas and then hearing he’d told James about Alex’s shameful plummet into obscurity. They were minor compared to other losses, the kind that took him out at the knees, but they still hurt.

Aaron heaved a sigh, sat back in his chair and rubbed a hand over his face. “It _is_ shitty,” he finally said, surprising Alex. “I fucking liked her.”

“Maybe they’re separating?” Alex didn’t know how he would feel about it; she _was_ married, after all, but maybe there were reasons she couldn’t leave her husband just yet? Extenuating circumstances? Alex was weary at the thought of having to figure out feelings about that, and he felt bad for Aaron, stuck in that very position.

“Guess I’ll have to wait and see.”

“Why don’t you, I don’t know, there has to be something you can do about it. Go and _get_ her, you know?” Maybe he was going too far; Aaron was frowning deeper now, and he’d sat up straighter, looking back at his papers.

“You should go take your break, you didn’t have one this morning, and then Lafayette can,” he said, voice back to sounding starched. Alex nodded, rose to his feet. As he started to leave, Aaron added, “good job on the new drinks. Don’t implement anything else without running it by me first.”

“Sure thing,” Alex said, and had to hide a small smile as he left the office. Aaron wasn’t all bad; he was doing his best, in his own way. In Aaron’s defense, all anyone had was their own way. Alex was hardly in a position to judge; his way had been the one to ruin him, and he still didn’t know how to go about making a new one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so excited to get comments, thank you guys!!!! please come yell with me about how cute john laurens is!!


	8. Chapter 8

            Monday brought Alex’s day off, and a downpour of rain. Alex didn’t mind the rain; he was planning on spending as much time as possible at home, planning his next set of holiday drinks. Lafayette had the same off day, and seemed determined to sleep through the first several hours of it, still asleep on the couch as Alex sat at the counter with his notebook. It was cozy, with the rain pelting the windows and coffee brewing in the machine beside Alex on the counter.

            The quiet was broken by Lafayette’s phone. It buzzed once, twice, and then a third time. Lafayette groaned, a hand flailing out from under the comforter until he knocked the phone off the coffee table. A fourth buzz followed.

            “Who needs something so early and so much?” Lafayette grumbled. More rustling, as he located the phone on the floor and withdrew it into his blanket cave. Alex went back to his recipe notes. His next set was going to be a cinnamon dolce latte and hazelnut macchiato; maybe John would want to come over and help him with the recipes.

            “Oh, Alexander,” Lafayette called over, “why is Thomas Jefferson worrying about you?” Alex flinched at the name.

            “Uh, what?” Alex turned on his stool, found Lafayette sitting up and frowning at his phone.

            “He is texting me that he is not hearing from you, and he worries. Why is he thinking you’re not ok?”

            “I don’t know why he thinks that.” Another buzz from Lafayette’s phone.

            “He says your phone is only voicemail every time he is calling.”

            “I, uh. Blocked him.” Alex sighed, shoulders slumping. “Don’t tell him that.”

            “But why? Everything is okay?”

            “It’s alright. He, uh. We have this… I dunno what you’d call him. Mutual acquaintance? He’s Thomas’s friend, and he hates me. _Hates_ me, and I know it’s my fault, I ruined his study because he was doing it wrong and he had to start over, which I guess added a lot of time to his thesis so he’s mad, and he knows what happened but he didn’t know what happened afterward, but Thomas _told_ him, how could he do that? I don’t want James to know what happened, I don’t want anyone to know, and if he told James what if he told anyone else? I’ll never be able to go back, if I wanted to, and I don’t _know_ if I will – want to, or go back, or _want_ to-”

Alex felt the sudden rush of heat, the spike in his heart rate, and he tried to fit it off, but what could he do, it felt like facing down a train. A fucking _panic attack,_ just because he thought about Thomas Jefferson for two seconds, he was ridiculous, pathetic –

“Alex,” Lafayette was right in front of him suddenly, wrapping Alex in his arms, warm and steady and so very calm. “Alexander, it’s just us, _mon ami._ You and me, in our apartment, we are okay. It’s just us.” Alex closed his eyes, felt himself trembling, dizziness coming in waves. But he was fine. Everything was fine, Lafayette was right, it was just them, a million miles away from his old life. Alex couldn’t quite turn it off, couldn’t make himself _stop panicking,_ but Lafayette didn’t seem to need an immediate response. Lafayette somehow really did know Alex, knew Alex wanted to hide and that in Lafayette’s arms was a safe place to do it, wanted quiet murmurs and constant calm.

            It felt like a long time before Alex could stop shaking, breathing evening back out; it was over. Alex withdrew, shoulders hunching in embarrassment. “I’m-” he started, but Lafayette seemed to know that he was going to apologize, kept his hands on Alex’s shoulders.

            “I know you,” he said, “and this means I can help you feel better. Why not let me?” Alex nodded slowly, took a shivering breath. Lafayette still didn’t know – well, _anything._ He understood, without knowing.

            “I’m sorry I haven’t told you about everything,” Alex said, “I – I should have. I mean, you moved in with me, you should know I have – have panic attacks. And stuff.” It was hard to say out loud. Everything had happened months ago, felt over, but Alex still had this, carried it with him; his breakdown had changed him, and he _hated_ that. All he’d wanted was to walk away from everything, but he’d been altered by it, given burdens, _changed_ because of it. Even when he’d told John about everything, he’d glossed over this, just said he had panic attacks when he thought about the past too much, and it had felt like downplaying things, like this wasn’t lurking around corners waiting for him, like it didn’t scare the shit out of him, reliving the first one over and over again.

            “It’s hard to talk about, you did not do anything wrong.” Lafayette didn’t even seem surprised; maybe he’d guessed. It wasn’t exactly hard to see how fragile Alex was lately, and being so – so _seen,_ by Lafayette specifically, wasn’t a bad feeling.

            Alex sighed, glanced back over at the couch, where Lafayette’s phone sat on the cushion. “What did he ask you about me?” Now that the worst was over, he could think a little clearer, and wonder why Thomas would go out of his way to see if Alex was alright.

            “He is asking if you are okay. Not to talk to you, or to ask you to call him. He just wants to know you are okay.”

            What if Alex had jumped to conclusions? He’d been known to do that before. What if Thomas telling James hadn’t been malicious, somehow?

            “If I went to talk to him… would you come?” He knew he was being ridiculous, and making Lafayette the human equivalent of a security blanket, but Alex somehow needed to do this, and he needed Lafayette there if he was ever going to go through with it.

            “ _Bien sûr,_ and especially if there is coffee. Do you want me to text him?”

            Alex nodded before he could change his mind, and Lafayette went to message Thomas back. He received a response before Alex could even slide off the counter stool.

            “He says yes! We will meet him in an hour.” _We,_ Alex reminded himself, when he felt his nervousness start to grow, it was him and Lafayette, not him alone, he wasn’t going to be alone.

            They left within twenty minutes, the rain falling in heavy sheets as they walked towards the shop Lafayette had picked. He hadn’t lived with Alex long, only a week and a half, but already had an assortment of favorite nearby cafes and restaurants. It was hard to believe it hadn’t even been two weeks; already, Alex was deeply used to the feeling of sharing the space with someone. Little though the place was, the thought of having it to himself again was deeply heart-wrenching. Even living with someone else would be lonely; Alex hoped he brought _something_ to Lafayette’s life, bettered it in some way, because Lafayette was bringing so much light to his.

            They arrived twenty-five minutes early, but as Alex looked around the shop, he spotted Thomas. He was sitting in one of the leather armchairs by the windows, staring out at the rain, skinny-jean-clad knee bouncing. He looked almost anxious, and Alex was surprised, stopped short.

            “What?” Lafayette was studying the menu, looked down at Alex.

“I think I was wrong about him,” Alex was suddenly embarrassed, somehow even more anxious about facing Thomas. It was one thing to talk to someone who had hurt him, but entirely another to talk to someone Alex had hurt. Had he?

“Let’s get coffee and then go over,” Lafayette suggested gently, possibly just to give Alex more time to calm down. Alex nodded, kept looking over at Thomas as they ordered, waited a minute or two, finally approached him. “TJ!” Lafayette greeted him first, making Thomas jump.

“Hey, Laf. Alex,” he added, watching them take the other two armchairs across a small, low table from him. For all his upfront honesty before, he seemed hesitant to talk first now, acting like he’d been chastised. He’d probably figured out that Alex had blocked him. Alex didn’t know how to start; Thomas was tense, knees spread like he wanted to appear casual, but one was still bouncing, his heel tapping the floor, and his coffee was still on the table, untouched. It looked like plain coffee, too. Lafayette had busied himself stirring his own coffee, so it was probably on Alex to talk first.

“Did you talk to Madison about me?” he blurted out; definitely not a good start. Thomas looked perplexed.

“Like, recently?”

“Yeah, um. About where I’ve been.”

“Probably,” Thomas still looked vaguely confused. “I see a lot of him since we’re in the same department. I probably mentioned it.”

“But… how come?” It seemed like the subtlest way to ask what he’d said, the tone of it. Thomas looked like he was waiting for the real conversation to start.

“It was probably right after I ran into you, I told like, everyone. I even told my mom.”

“But _why?”_ Everyone? He’d told _everyone_ that Alex was doing this? Hiding from his life, terrified by his responsibilities and obligations, too fragile to face any of it?

“Because I was _relieved?”_ Thomas shook his head, still looked utterly lost. “Dude, I know you were there, but you have no idea what it was like. I thought you weren’t going to be _okay._ And I don’t want to make this about me, but shit, man, it was _scary._ And I had to leave you there without knowing if you were going to be alright. I couldn’t sleep, I’d lose it over stupid little stuff, I couldn’t walk by the building where they had the competition, I was fucking _worried._ So, yeah, when I finally found you and you weren’t – you were _okay,_ it was on my mind a lot afterwards. _”_

“Alex,” Lafayette murmured, and his eyes were full of sympathy that wasn’t just for Alex. Alex had been so, so wrong; he could suddenly picture Thomas, talking about finding Alex because it meant a huge worry had been lifted from his shoulders. Before he’d known, before he’d found Alex to be safe and sound – he’d been afraid.

“I’m sorry.” Words were starting to fall from Alex’s mouth again, fast and pleading, “I’m sorry, I should have trusted you wouldn’t do what I thought you did. After what you did for me – that was showing me who you really are, and I should have believed it. I was a dick to just block your number because of an assumption.”

Something shifted, then; Alex had said something right, and he felt tension evaporate into lightness. Thomas slouched down further in his seat, the tense set of his shoulder softening.

“I hope you don’t expect our friendship to be full of feelings talks like this,” he drawled, the corner of his mouth turning up. “Next time you’re mad at me, please just call and yell at me. Passive aggressive texts would be fine, even.”

“Your invitation for Thanksgiving was really nice, too,” Alex said quickly, before he could lose the nerve, “like, in retrospect. I’m sorry I bailed.”

“You can come to the Christmas one. Doesn’t have a clever name, but it’s just as good. It’s not a big, crazy party or anything, it’s like a dinner party.”

“I want to be invited to these parties,” Lafayette chimed in, as Thomas leaned forward to finally pick up his coffee cup.

“You were _there,_ Laf,” Thomas reminded him.

“Your friend was him?” Alex asked; it made sense, he’d known they were friends, but hadn’t really put it together.

“Well, yes, why do you think I invited you so late?” Thomas asked, rolling his eyes, “Laf was supposed to invite you, and you kept saying no.”

“He had a date,” Lafayette waggled his eyebrows, and Alex elbowed him.

“It wasn’t a _date.”_

They stayed a little while longer; it was surprisingly natural, talking about Thomas’s plans for his Christmas dinner, the rather elaborate and ambitious menu he had in mind. Alex wasn’t sure why there were so many people with such advanced culinary talents suddenly in his life –Lafayette was great at coffee-based drinks, even if he regularly burned actual food by forgetting about it, and now Thomas had plans involving _sous vide_ something, and John, of course John, his blushing offerings.

Thomas had to leave before long, to get to the theater where he taught a class for teenagers, and Alex left the café with Lafayette in the opposite direction. The rain had lightened to a drizzle, but Lafayette still opened his umbrella, pulled Alex in beneath it. The street felt hushed by the rain, and they were insulated beneath the umbrella, quiet all around.

“Thanks for coming,” Alex said, bumped his shoulder against Lafayette’s, though further down from his actual shoulder. “I feel bad I freaked out about him. He really is a nice guy.”

“I’m glad,” Lafayette said gently, “I was hoping he is, to you.”

“He, um. He took care of me a few months ago. I had a – a nervous breakdown, like the panic attacks but a lot worse. It was stress from my master’s thesis research, and work, and I’d just broken up with Eliza after a pregnancy scare, and everything kind of came to a head. That’s what happened, that’s why I’m working at the shop, and all the books at home, and the – the panic attacks.”

“Alexander,” Lafayette’s voice was soft, as gentle as being touched. “You are having a hard time, for so long. I wish it wasn’t like this for you.”

“Things are better now.” Things were different, more specifically; he hadn’t bettered his situation, he’d abandoned it for another one. It felt like running away, because it wasn’t what he wanted, not precisely. He wanted parts of his new life – the friends he now had, the calm, the peace. He missed some of the things that he’d left behind, though – his ambition may have driven him into the ground, but it was a fire that could make him feel alive, purposeful. He felt aimless, drifting through someone else’s context as himself, displaced. He didn’t know how to bring anything old forward into his new life without crumbling in the face of it.

“I’m glad you found us,” Lafayette said, and though the road he’d taken had been painful, though he’d had to fall apart to do it, Alex was glad, too.

 

Alex’s Thursday shift dragged by; it was the day he worked with John Adams instead of Lafayette, which made it go by much slower. It was also the second day of John’s weekend – his John, although Alex flushed pink when he thought of John that way, even to himself – and Alex’s day was dragging because of it. Alex normally had Tuesday and Wednesdays off, which lined up better with John’s Wednesday/Thursday weekend, but the extra hours over the past busy weekend had given him the bad luck of having his weekend be Monday/Tuesday instead. It felt dumb to be missing John after not seeing him since work on Sunday, but here Alex was, moping.

Nearing the end of his shift, the shop was slow, and Alex was staring out the window, watching cars drive through the slushy remains of the snow outside. December had brought enough rain already to wash away the lingering snow, turning to a salt-studded, slushy mess in the gutters. It was hard enough to convince himself to get out of bed in the dark morning when Lafayette got to sleep in; that was the one downside of sharing a studio, they had to keep the lights off while getting ready on days their schedules didn’t match up. Alex supposed there were other downsides – Lafayette probably missed having a mattress, and an entire closet to himself – but for once, the thought of resigning his lease didn’t depress him. It could renew at the end of December, something that usually made him feel hollow and lonely when he thought about another year living alone.

“Is that Lafayette?” Adams asked, although how he’d spotted Lafayette outside, Alex didn’t know; Adams was rearranging things underneath the counter, nearly crawling inside the cabinets to do so.

“Guess so,” Alex leaned his hip against the counter, watching Lafayette pull the doors open and stride inside. “Can’t stay away?” he called over, and Lafayette grinned at him.

“Your shift is over! Let’s go!”

“Go where?”

“We have things to be doing, Alexander. I have been very busy today.”

“I thought you were just going to the store.”

“I did that already!” Lafayette waved his hand impatiently, “what time is it? Adams, let him go now. I insist.”

“Jay isn’t even here yet,” Adams grumbled. “Or Lee.”

“You are so capable, you don’t need Alex! I, on the other hand, need Alex. Please!” he hadn’t even taken his jacket off, so eager to leave again. Alex pouted in Adams’ direction until Adams heaved a sigh.

“Go ahead, I got things covered here,” he allowed, and Alex was hurrying to throw his apron in the laundry, grab his backpack from the break room. The plan was probably no more exciting than errands, but Alex felt cooped up after spending the day in the coffee house without either John or Lafayette. Aaron hadn’t even come in, busy with off-site meetings for the catering.

“Where are we going?” Alex asked, as Lafayette hustled him out the door.

“You will see!” he said, and proceeded to talk Alex’s ear off about everything but their impending plans, throughout the subway ride and walk through the streets. They arrived at a building Alex didn’t recognize, Lafayette still determinedly off-topic as he talked.

“Where _are_ we?” Alex asked, when they were buzzed in and let themselves into a small lobby. The building wasn’t much different from his own, and pretty near his own neighborhood. He could still walk to Lafayette’s favorite coffee shop, from here.

“You will see!” Lafayette said again, all-but dragging Alex up the narrow stairs. They reached the fourth floor, and Lafayette knocked on one of the doors. A man answered the door while on the phone, beckoned them into what turned out to be an empty apartment.

“Hi again,” he said to Lafayette, covering the receiver for a moment, “let me know if you need anything. I’ll be in the hall.” He stepped past them, leaving them alone in the apartment. Alex looked around, still vaguely confused.

“Isn’t this amazing?” Lafayette grinned at him, throwing his arms out. It was a nice place; similar to Alex’s in that it was on the older and smaller side but with a nice amount of windows. There was a small kitchen, a tiny living room, and a hallway that was only a couple steps long, leading to two empty bedrooms and a bathroom.

“It’s nice,” Alex agreed. Dread was starting to pool in his stomach. Lafayette had said he wouldn’t stay long, at the beginning of moving in with Alex. Was it already over? Alex had been so _excited_ not to face another year living alone. And here was this apartment, ready for Lafayette to move in with one of his many other friends as a roommate, because of course he wanted a bedroom like a normal person, and how long had Alex expected that to go on, realistically? They would still be friends, he told himself, as he wandered towards the bedrooms, mostly to give himself some space as he came to the realization of what was happening. Tears pricked at his eyes, which was stupid. Lafayette was moving out, because he lived on a couch, and had outright stated that he would make sure to find his own place very soon after moving in. He wasn’t doing anything wrong.

“Alex?” Lafayette called from the other bedroom, still sounding delighted. “What do you think?” He came into the bedroom, joined Alex at the window. It let in a lot of light, despite facing another building. “Something is wrong?” Lafayette’s face fell when he caught sight of Alex, who seemed incapable of keeping things from Lafayette. Alex drew in a breath, ready to shake his head no and force a smile. But – but was he just doing the same thing he’d done with Thomas? Reacting without giving someone who had earned his trust the chance to talk to him?

“I’m – I’m going to miss living with you,” Alex forced out, “it’s really lonely living by myself. But I totally get it, you should have a real bed and stuff, I mean, it isn’t even a _good_ couch.”

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t for Lafayette to throw an arm over his shoulders, yank him close. “Alexander!” Lafayette chided, “it has only been three weeks, but I cannot imagine living with someone else! Your lease is ready to renew, _non?_ I saw the paper on the counter. I thought I would find a place first, before I tell you the plan, so I can have answers for how much is rent at a new place. If I could not find a place in time,” he cast a sheepish look in Alex’s direction, “I was going to ask you if your landlord lets you do month-to-month, so I have more time to look for us. Or if you can’t, to let me stay anyways. But here is this place! It is very small, and half of the rent is still the same amount you pay for a whole studio, and I think it is a little older, and more stairs, but I am hoping?” He gave Alex a winning smile. For all his explanations, Alex saw the main one: he hadn’t wanted to make promises he couldn’t keep, had wanted desperately to be a constant Alex could depend on.

“In that case, I _love_ this apartment.”

Lafayette headed out to inform the man showing the place, but called over his shoulder, “plus, you are having more privacy now! In case you are wanting to invite anyone over!”

“Very funny!” Alex stayed in the apartment, wandering around his new home. He could picture where he’d put his bed, the dresser, maybe squeeze in a really small desk. He could picture, a little more blurrily but still discernable, John sitting on his bed, curls a mess, giving Alex sleepy smiles and talking passionately about breakfast pastries. Alex wasn’t ready; he wasn’t ready to be cracked open and vulnerable again, couldn’t handle even the slightest stumble yet, but sometimes, he thought John might be willing to wait for him to put himself back together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my new hobby is hurting precious jefferson; sweet angel john is naturally also on this list
> 
> thank you for reading!!! please come yell with me about thomas jefferson being sad!!!!!! and shyest laurens!!!!!


	9. Chapter 9

 

            When Alex came home with an armful of cleaning supplies, about to announce to Lafayette that they now had enough different cleaning products to clean a castle, he was greeted by a bigger mess than he’d left the apartment in. They were in the middle of packing up everything, preparing to move that weekend, the very next day. It was already the sixth, and they’d agreed to start paying rent on the seventh; Alex’s current landlord had been happy to end his lease early, since his daughter had just moved to the city and would need a place to rent. The timing was perfect, Alex was bursting with excitement, and he assumed Lafayette had suddenly started packing his clothes because he was enthusiastic to move, too. At least, he thought that until he actually saw Lafayette.

            “Is something wrong?” Alex asked, setting the paper bag on the counter; he still felt like he was intruding by asking, but he just wanted to _help._ Lafayette was sitting on the ground by his open suitcase, the dresser drawers open and empty beside him, and he looked stricken, distant.

            “My mom called me,” Lafayette said faintly, staring into the half-packed suitcase. “ _Mon père –_ he is dead.” Pain welled in Alex’s chest at the words, and he crossed the apartment to sit on the floor too, wrapped his arms around Lafayette for a long moment.

            “Fuck, Laf,” he managed. Lafayette wilted, nodding.

            “We weren’t close, I left France to be on my own, but. _Je sais pas,_ I don’t know why I am so – I don’t know.”

            “I know.” Alex wished he had any idea what to do; how did Lafayette _do_ it, always know what to say to make Alex feel better? How come Alex couldn’t do that for him? He was at a loss, void of words. Lafayette was _sad,_ why couldn’t Alex think of anything to say? What would Lafayette say to him? “It’s – even if you weren’t close. It’s still okay to be sad.”

            Impossibly, Lafayette smiled a tiny bit, leaned into Alex. “Alexander,” he said, laughed weakly, “you sound like me.”

            “Yeah, well, you’re the one who tells me that it’s okay to be upset about things and that we’ll get through it, so.” Alex felt himself blush. “And you’re right about all that. It’s okay to be sad, and – and it’s okay to be upset that you’re sad, because it was someone who wasn’t good to you so you don’t want to be sad, but – but maybe you’re sad that they’re gone, and that means you’ll never have the relationship you wanted.”

            “I think you are right,” Lafayette shook his head, gave a shuddering sigh. “Oh, Alex,” he murmured, looking down at him, even taller while sitting, “how do you know this?” _Two minutes_ after hearing his own father had died, Lafayette was worried about Alex. In the midst of his own confused misery, he’d honed in on Alex’s sadness through the fog.

            “We’re talking about you right now,” Alex insisted, firm, “and what can I do? To help, I mean. Do you have to go there, is that why you’re packing?”

            “ _Oui_. I have to be there for my mom, she will be heartbroken. They did not have a good marriage, but she will be lost without him. She is the one who told me it was okay to go, even though I was the only one she was having, besides my father.” He lapsed into silence, gazing down at the suitcase again. “Maybe now she will move home,” he said, like he was thinking out loud. “That would be nice. She is from Switzerland. Maybe I can help her do this.” That sounded just like him, focusing on what he could do for others. “But – Alex! We are moving!” He looked panicked, looking frantically around the decidedly unpacked apartment. “We have to do the cleaning, and _moving-”_

“I have that totally handled,” Alex promised. He didn’t know how he’d do it, exactly, but he could do this for Lafayette, at the very least. “Don’t even worry about it. I’ll pack whatever you don’t take with you.”

            “I asked Thomas to come with his car,” Lafayette added. “Since he is the only person in all the city with one.”

            “No kidding. But, see? We have everything covered. You have nothing to worry about. Go and do what you have to do, and when you get back, you’ll come back to our awesome new place.” Lafayette nodded along, eyes still sad but shoulders a little less slumped. “And if you wanna talk, or be talked to, when you’re there or when you’re back, I’m here. Now, or later, or a lot later, it doesn’t matter. So – do you have a flight already?”

            “ _Oui,_ I just bought a ticket, it’s at four today.”

            “Okay, that’s good. We’ll pack some stuff for you and get you an uber to the airport, we’ve got plenty of time.” Alex looked from Lafayette to his state of packing, the few articles of clothing that were actually in the suitcase, Lafayette’s phone still right beside him. “What about a break first?” Alex ventured. Lafayette followed him unquestioningly, slumping onto the couch beside him. He needed time to process, Alex thought, mostly because he figured that was what Lafayette would do for him: give him a plan of action, but give him a safe resting place first. It wasn’t something Alex would have known to do, before Lafayette, would have plunged headlong into the first plan he could think of and this, the idea of a calm, a peace, a comforting.

 

            The next morning, the apartment seemed so very quiet. Alex had stayed up late packing things into boxes and cleaning extensively, ending up with a small mountain of boxes labeled _kitchen, bath, bedroom_ by the door. The apartment seemed to echo despite its small size, with the furniture pulled away from the walls and cabinets empty. The hardwood floor he’d never gotten around to covering with a rug had meant easy cleaning, and Lafayette had cleaned the bathroom thoroughly, enthusiastic on his mission before being stopped short by his awful phone call. Alex had stayed up until the early hours of the morning working on the kitchen, and in the morning, it was all starkly clean, and exceedingly empty.

            Alex had one more thing left to do before moving, and he fussed with things around the apartment for as long as he could, putting it off. When he found himself wiping down the blinds for a second time, he finally called it quits, and pulled out his phone.

            “Alex!” Angelica cried when she picked up, “how are you?”

            “I wasn’t sure you’d be awake,” he said, not entirely true. Angelica woke up at five thirty every morning to go to the gym; it was practically seven now, she would have been up for hours.   

            “We can’t all get up at the crack of dawn.” How had Alex forgotten how early he used to get up? How little he used to sleep? He’d been known for it, working on projects and papers and research and articles at ridiculous hours.

            “I, um. I’m actually moving apartments,” Alex said, fiddling with the rag he’d been using to wipe down the blinds, the scent of the cleaner sharp and bitter. “And since you like to show up at mine, I wanted to tell you where the new one is.”

            “Of course!” she sounded delighted; maybe Alex should take her at her word more, not assume she was fiercely on Eliza’s side in a situation that hadn’t necessitated sides at all. “If you don’t have a housewarming party, I’ll throw one for you, obviously, so I’ll be needing the address.”

            “I don’t know about a whole party, but you’ll like the place when you see it. It’s two bedrooms, actually, so my roommate actually gets his own room.”

            “Well, I’m sure he’ll prefer being a roommate to being a couchmate.” Angelica paused, then added, voice hushed, “I’m with Eliza, by the way. Did you want to say hi to her?”

            “I, um.” Did he? Angelica had said she would always be there for Alex, and here she still was, not hating him, not blaming him. Eliza had wanted to remain friends, maybe she was as forgiving, despite what he’d done. “Sure.”

            Almost immediately, Eliza’s voice was back in his ear, like she’d been gone only moments and not months. “Alex, hi!” she said, somehow sounding even more _her_ than she had in her Thanksgiving voicemail. “How are you? How’s everything.”

            “Um, it’s good. Everything’s good. What’ve you been up to?”

            “Oh, same old.” For Eliza, that was her PR work for a nonprofit; she had been yet another person Alex had known who seemed to fit seamlessly into their world, thriving and blossoming, so very fulfilled. “So what’re you writing?” Eliza asked conversationally, as she always did, and it was a question that could have been plucked right from their past, something she’d asked him countless times. Alex was always writing something and Eliza, loving girlfriend that she was, had always been interested.

            But now – nothing. Alex was writing nothing. The void in his life seemed to open up suddenly, an emptiness threatening to turn into a black hole. Alex was writing nothing, and he didn’t feel like _himself,_ lacking an answer to that. He was always writing, and it was the only place where his passion had felt well-placed, meaningful, like if he just wrote enough, he could make things happen. He never knew _what_ he wanted to happen, but he knew that this was how.

            “Nothing,” he said, because he had no words for this, either. “I, uh, I have to go, I’m actually right about to start moving, and Thomas is coming with his car to help me-”

“Thomas _Jefferson?”_ Eliza asked, incredulous.

“Yeah, we’re friends now, it’s weird. He’s actually a nice guy. Like, a _really_ nice guy. It’s weird.”

“Sounds like it,” Eliza laughed, and it was another hundred memories coming back to life. Alex shook them away. Maybe he wasn’t ready to see her in person, he thought, because it would be easy to fall back into the same thing, the siren’s call of a family with someone that he might not have been _in_ love with, but certainly loved. “Well, let us know if you need any more help with moving, okay?”

Alex promised he would, said goodbye, and the silence of the apartment seemed louder afterwards, without her voice in his ear. He was thankful for the immediate distraction of the buzzer that meant Thomas was ringing his apartment from the first floor, hurried to answer it.

“Why do you always look surprised to see me?” Thomas said when Alex answered the door. Alex didn’t know how to point out that it wasn’t that he was surprised to see Thomas, exactly, it was more that the state of Thomas always surprised Alex. Looking at Alex with blatant relief and delight in the coffee shop, waiting for him anxiously when Alex met up with him, and now, standing in his doorway holding a bag of bagels and a pair of coffees in a beverage carrier. Thomas didn’t wait for an answer, heading into the apartment and setting the food down on the counter. “How’s Lafayette? He texted me to tell me what happened but not much else.”

“He’s alright. He flew out yesterday, and this morning he said he was at his parents’ house.” Lafayette had also said _it’s sad here without him but I don’t know why, because I didn’t like it when he was at home_ and _I haven’t been home in a long time and I’m mad he isn’t here for it??? That is stupid._ Alex had sat in bed blinking at his bright phone screen, only a few hours after going to bed, thinking of what to say that could possibly make Lafayette feel even a tiny bit better.

It was different than what Alex had gone through with his own father; Alex had been so young when he’d left them, and a leaving was hardly a dying, had left an ajar door for years afterwards. By the time Alex had dug up confirmation that his father had died years later, his father was a distant memory, and the door had eased nearly shut. It was different than when he’d lost his mother; Alex had grieved his mother without the confusion or self-hatred that Lafayette was suffering. Lafayette grieved a father who did not deserve his grieving, seemed upset with himself for daring to feel sad, confused and angry and still aching for a love he’d never received. Alex’s mother had loved him whole-heartedly and before she died, she’d told Alex _you are the light of my life, my bumblebee. You are a blessing_ , she had said, like maybe she’d known that years later, he would be doubting it, desperate to believe he could be a good thing _._ Lafayette’s father had died in the midst of a silence, a quiet extinguishing in the dark, leaving Lafayette nothing to light his way out.

Maybe because it was early morning, just as it had been when Alex’s mother had died, Alex could practically hear her voice. He’d replied to Lafayette _maybe it’s because you wanted him to see how happy you are now,_ and then, _you’re a blessing to everyone who knows you, I’m sorry he didn’t see it._

 _Alexander,_ Lafayette had messaged back simply, and Alex had gone back to sleep, knowing Lafayette didn’t feel quite as alone.

The move itself wasn’t too difficult, though time-consuming. It took countless trips back and forth in the car to move the boxes, and Alex was startled to realize he had no plan for the furniture.

“Uh,” he managed, staring at the couch, the bed. Thomas seemed to realize what he was thinking, but his response was to laugh.

“Nearly one o’clock, right?” he asked, “they should be getting here right about now.”

“Who?”

The _who_ turned out to be a tiny moving company, who clearly hadn’t been scheduled by phone, because they didn’t bat an eye when Thomas claimed to be Lafayette, despite his glaring lack of a heavy French accent. “Yup, that’s me,” he said when they met the two men at the curb, “I’ll let you guys in, c’mon.”

“He – you got a truck?” Alex whispered as he followed Thomas back upstairs for what felt like the hundredth time that day. Thomas shrugged.

“He asked me to help out the day you guys saw the place, probably scheduled it then. He was really excited about your new place,” he shook his head, sighed a little. “Poor guy. At least he’ll come back to it all finished and homey, even if he doesn’t get to be there for the first day. This way, guys,” he said over his shoulder, opening the front door for the movers. Alex stepped to the side to message Lafayette _you scheduled movers?? You’re the best!!!_ which, knowing Lafayette, would make him preen a little and hopefully lift his mood a smidgen. He prided himself on taking care of people, Alex had noticed, seemed to value his caretaking as his own best quality. Alex hoped that, given this first, heartbreaking chance, he was taking care of Lafayette just as well.

From there, the move went easily, especially considering that the furniture moving problem had been immediately solved. By early evening, Alex was standing in his new apartment, with Thomas Jefferson, of all people, somehow already feeling at home.

“Nice place,” Thomas said, wandering through the kitchen, poking his head into the bathroom. “It’s a nice building, you’ll like it.”

Alex wasn’t quite listening, though; he’d stopped in front of Lafayette’s room, heart sinking. “Oh, shit,” he mumbled. How could he have forgotten? Lafayette _didn’t have furniture._ He’d been sleeping on the couch, after moving from a furnished sublet. His boxes and suitcases were stacked neatly along the wall waiting for him.

“Hmm?” Thomas meandered over, joined Alex at the doorway. “Sparse, isn’t it?”

“It’s literally an empty room,” Alex grumbled. “How could I forget he didn’t own a bed? I bet he forgot, too, honestly.” And Lafayette had just bought a last-minute flight to Europe and would soon have to buy another back, and paid up front for movers, plus his half of the deposit and first month’s rent. Alex would repay him for the movers, but his own savings had taken a severe hit in the past few months, and were just limping along at his new wage level. The mattress alone would be more than he could afford.

“Tell you what, I’ve known Laf a long time now, and I’m pretty sure I know what his style is. Let’s you and I solve this for him before he gets home.” Thomas strode into the kitchen to grab his keys off the counter, and when he reached the front door, he turned to look expectantly at Alexander. “C’mon, we’ll eat at my place.”

“Where is that?” Alex asked, casting around to look for his coat. Thomas all-but dissolved into laughter. “What?”

“I’m just – I’m trying to imagine,” Thomas gasped out in between laughs, “telling you, six months ago, that you just moved into the same building as me. I think you’d have killed me.”

“You live here?”

“Yeah, how do you think Laf heard about the apartment before anyone else got to see it? I’m a floor down.” Thomas chuckled, heading for the door again without checking to see if Alex was following him, certain Alex would. Alex couldn’t imagine himself doing this six months ago, either, not any of it. Moving into Thomas’s apartment building and being happy to find out they were neighbors, spending the evening with him, watching a drama Thomas was into and bickering about the plot without any venom to it. The odd thing was knowing that if he’d actually _known_ Thomas six months ago, none of it would have been surprising; Thomas was the same person then as he was now. He was even then the type of person who would step in when Alex was falling apart, who would spend all day helping him move, and who would spend a few hours shopping for a bedroom set that he deemed “Lafayette-approved” and having it shipped to the upstairs apartment, shrugging off the cost because, spoiled son from a rich family though he’d seemed to Alex, he tried to share his own luck with others as best he could.

“My Christmas dinner party is next weekend,” Thomas told Alex as they watched the credits on their third episode in a row, “the Saturday. You’ll come? I know Lafayette probably won’t be back,” he went on, before Alex could say that he would, “but my other friends are also cool. One’s from school, one’s from back home, and two are from the theater project. And, didn’t you have a date on Thanksgiving? You should have a second date, by coming to this.” He grinned enticingly.

“I’m in, it sounds fun.” What if Alex had been something other than abrasive and argumentative, when he’d first met Thomas? He could have had a friend during school. They could have had lunch together, edited each other’s papers, sat in coffee shops studying. Thomas had been perfectly friendly, before Alex ripped apart his research and followed it up with biting commentary. He didn’t know what it said about himself, that it took a complete breakdown to stop him forcing everyone out of his life. The confusion that came from almost feeling thankful for the defining, devastating breakdown was dizzying. “It wasn’t really a date,” Alex added, realizing what Thomas had said.

“Lafayette seemed to think so.” Thomas gave him a suggestive look, complete with eyebrow raising. “I’m just saying, this would be a great follow-up. Really classy. Very impressive. I throw a great dinner party.”

“You’re the _only_ person who still throws dinner parties.”

“Even better!”

“I’ll think about it,” Alex slouched down further on the couch, watching Thomas grab the remote so he could select the next episode. “It won’t be a date.”

“A non-date, leading up to future dates.”

“What, is this an election? The date primaries?”

“Sure! Bring one date to this one, and I’ll host an entire second dinner party so you can bring the competition and we’ll even all pretend it’s the original party.”

“There _is_ no competition, there’s no one else I’d want to date. We’re just – happen to not be dating.”

“So you don’t _need_ the primaries,” Thomas grinned, “that tells you something right there.”

“It’s not a date!” But Alex’s cheeks were turning pink and he was imagining knocking on the front door, holding John’s hand.

            Alex went home after they’d finished out the rest of the season, promising to come back and watch the next season with Thomas. Before he went to bed, he sent a message to Lafayette to check in on him, and then, before he could talk himself out of it, texted John _want to come to a Christmas dinner party with me?_

He was about to add that it was the following weekend when John texted back _for sure! I’ll be there,_ like no matter when it was, John was excited to go with him. The thought made Alex’s heart race, and he turned his phone off so the thought of further texts couldn’t make him anxious, tried to sleep thinking only about how John held his hand. He had half a thought to ask Lafayette if that meant something, and could imagine Lafayette producing confetti from nowhere and gushing over the news, and that thought, finally, calmed Alex enough to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!!! and for comments!!!! i love you!!!!!


	10. Chapter 10

 

            John had been going back and forth all week. Early mornings at work were spent arguing with Herc, although John didn’t even know which side he fell on. He’d had a mix of optimistic and gloomy mornings, and had argued both for and against the question. Leading up to the actual evening, John had genuinely thought he didn’t know, but when the time came to get ready on Saturday evening, as he stood in front of his closet and stared at his shirts, he knew. His heart was pounding and he felt restless, both eager and anxious to get there.

            It was a date. He tried on three different shirts, changed his hair twice, fussed with things around the room until it was an acceptable time to leave; it was a date, with someone he _really_ liked. That hadn’t happened in a while; the last and first time it had happened, it had been a defining moment in John’s life, and maybe that was why he felt hot and anxious and unsure.

            He still had twenty-five minutes until he could leave and not arrive ridiculously early, so he grabbed his phone, scanned his favorite contacts until he found Herc’s name.

            “What up, kid?”

            “What if it _isn’t_ a date?” John blurted out. He stood in the bathroom, glad at least that his roommates weren’t home to witness his repeated trips to the mirror. “What if I think it’s a date, and it isn’t, and I _look_ like I think it’s a date?”

            “How does someone look like they think it’s a date?” Herc sounded genuinely curious, as if this was a fascinating hypothetical and not John having a minor crisis.

            “Just… looking like I’m trying too hard.” Which he definitely did. He was wearing his nicest jeans, and a black button-up. He never wore black, since he baked a lot and flour showed up too obviously on black, but he thought he looked good in it. He’d taken his hair back down, put in some mousse thing that made his curls look nice. God, he was trying too hard.

            “Shouldn’t someone want people to try hard for them?”

            “Are you _high?”_ John grumbled, putting the phone on speaker so he could pull his hair back experimentally.

            “Excuse me for not spending my Saturday night stone-cold sober,” Herc sniffed, ever the dramatic, “If I want to get stoned and watch the Real Housewives, that’s my prerogative.”

            “ _Help me,_ Herc!” John whined. His hair looked better down, he thought, but not exactly casual. Or was it casual?

            “To be honest, dating dudes isn’t exactly my area of expertise.”

            “Give me your best guess, then!”

            “Well, if I had to guess, if I was dating a guy,” Herc hummed thoughtfully, “or not dating, as the case may be. Well,” he lapsed into thought for a too-long time. When John huffed his name again, Herc sighed. “I was thinking about if I want to bang a dude, I was trying to get into the zone.”

            “I don’t need you to get into the gay zone or whatever! Just tell me what to do!”

            “I think,” Herc said, and he sounded thoughtful again, which could be good or bad news, “I would be pretty upset if I got to like, sixty years old and then realized I loved sex with dudes.”

            “What?!” John howled.

            “Maybe I need to make some new plans for tonight. I think I’d do well at a bar.”

            “I do not need to hear about your experimentation phase you’ve decided to jump into,” John gritted out, “please, please, just tell me what to wear tonight.”

            “Oh, is that all? You look good in dark blue and black. Wear nice jeans, and a button up, but roll the sleeves up. Don’t put your hair back. It’s a fancy dinner party even if it isn’t a date, but it’s totally a date.”

            “Huh.” John drew in a slow breath, exhaled. “Okay. Thanks.”

            “No problem, kid.”

            “Enjoy your… dick sucking adventure, or whatever.”

            “Why thank you.”

            John hung up and changed his shirt to a blue one, then decided it was too light a blue, and went back to the black one. By then, it was finally time to leave, and he grabbed the bread he’d baked for the party and dashed for the door, eager to have a distraction. Of course, the distraction wasn’t great, since it involved sitting on the subway and having far too much time to think. The same had been true while he was baking that afternoon; he’d decided to make dinner rolls to bring, and the baking process had given him too much time to think about his date-not-date.

            When he knocked on Alex’s front door, he was ready to blurt out “this isn’t a date, is it?” but thankfully, the words died on his tongue when Alex opened the door. Because, there Alex was, and whether it was a date or it wasn’t, Alex had wanted to spend time together, and the sight of him filled John with calm.

            “Hey!” John threw his free arm around Alex to hug him hello, and in all his fretting, he’d forgotten how things felt with Alex. This was easy, natural, welcomed, and Alex hugged him back, grinning up at him. It didn’t matter if it was a date, and being near Alex suddenly banished all of John’s nerves; it suddenly felt like he could do no wrong by being himself, like he couldn’t be overly honest or too eager, like there was no amount of his genuine self that was considered too much.

            “Come in, I’ve just got to grab the wine I’m bringing,” Alex brought John in, and John set his Tupperware on the counter, looking around. The new apartment was nice, homey, although the sight of Lafayette’s empty room made John’s heart twist in sympathy.

            “How’s Lafayette?” John asked, wandering towards the bedrooms. Lafayette’s was mostly packed boxes and suitcases, but at least it had furniture, a made bed and distressed wood bedroom set. “Is he coming back soon?”

            “I think so, I don’t think he’s decided if he’s staying for Christmas.”

            John returned to the kitchen to retrieve his Tupperware again, found Alex pulling a bottle of wine from the refrigerator. “Is chilling red wine a new fad?” The comment drew a thoughtful look to Alex’s face, as he studied the bottle in his hands.

            “I was so sure red was the chilled one and white wasn’t. Maybe I’m thinking of something else?”

            “What on earth would that apply to?” John smiled at the look on Alex’s face, like he was really trying to think of an answer. “Are you ready to go?”

            “Yeah, it’s actually just upstairs.”

            “No kidding, did you meet them after moving in?”

            “No, Lafayette knows the guy, which is how he found the apartment. It’s that guy that comes into the coffee house sometimes, Thomas Jefferson? He actually just helped me move.”

            “I would have helped,” John said, maybe pitifully, as he followed Alex back out the door, stood to the side as Alex locked it after them.

            “It’s cool, we totally got it! And he came back this week to assemble Laf’s bedroom furniture with me.”

            “That’s nice of him.” John had seen Thomas a few times in the shop. How hadn’t he thought to ask whose party it was? Of course it was that guy’s, he seemed so polished and put-together, he would be the type to host dinner parties. John had maybe watched from the kitchen, that day Thomas had come and stolen Alex away to talk to him off in a corner of the shop. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Thomas was gorgeous, tall and handsome, with wild hair and a perfect jawline and broad shoulders. And, apparently, he was also a genuinely nice guy, so that was great.

            John was determined not to let it ruin his mood, though; that was made easier when Alex turned to check John was following him to the stairs, smiled at him. So it was Thomas’s party, whatever; Alex had still asked _John_ to go with him. John followed eagerly, and soon they were being let into another apartment a floor down, by Thomas himself. He was no less dashing than John had remembered, naturally.

            “Come in, come in,” he waved them inside, smiled welcomingly. “I’ll introduce you to everyone. I’m Thomas, by the way,” he said to John, closing the door after them and offering his hand. “I’ve seen you at the coffee place, right?”

            “Yeah, I’m John. I’m the baker. Apprentice,” John added, feeling himself redden slightly. “I, um. Made bread?”

            “Awesome! I’ve eaten everything there, and it’s literally all amazing. Especially the brioche! You guys are _good._ ” Reluctantly, John was kind of liking the guy. He was warm and friendly, seemed entirely genuine when he talked.

            “I maybe chilled this,” Alex offered the red wine, and Thomas accepted both the bottle and John’s Tupperware, heading with them into the kitchen.

            “What kind of heathen doesn’t know not to chill red wine?”

            “This heathen is starting a new movement!” Alex protested, grinning over at John, the inclusion making John glow.      

            Thomas gave them the tour of the relatively spacious apartment, a one-bedroom with a table set up in the living room, couch pushed aside to make room, and introduced them to the mingling people. They mostly seemed to be friends from a theater volunteer program he was involved in, and a couple he introduced as being from college, which made John wonder if Alex knew them, or knew of them, already. Was that how Alex knew Thomas, anyways?

            John excused himself from a conversation about a campus library’s renovation, slipped into the bathroom. It was as tastefully decorated as the rest of the apartment, featuring a framed playbill for Wicked on the wall, and a little hanging fern.

            When John went back out to the hallway, Alex wasn’t still standing in the entrance to the living room. Before John could go investigate further, he heard Thomas’s voice from the kitchen, hushed enough that it wouldn’t carry, but the bathroom was in an alcove just around the corner, not far away enough.

            “Weren’t you going to bring your date?” Thomas was asking, and John had a sinking feeling about where Alex was: talking to Thomas, about some date he was going to bring, who wasn’t John.

            “Shh!” Alex’s voice, so it was definitely him over there. “I’m not – I told you – yes, okay, he _is_ the date!” he whispered fiercely. John _was_ the date? His heart lightened immediately, filling with a giddy relief. Alex _did_ like him, _and_ in that way.

            “Oh, no shit!” Thomas’s voice dropped its teasing, and he just sounded pleased. “I didn’t know he was _the date_. I’m glad you brought him!”

            “Shut up before someone hears you,” Alex groaned, “I don’t know what we are, but, yeah. Don’t freak him out.”

            “So that’s a hard no on asking invasive personal questions? Of your date?”

            “Oh my _God,_ Thomas.”

            John was saved from needing an excuse to reenter when Thomas sauntered out of the kitchen, calling out that dinner was being served. Plates were brought to the table, the nine guests took seats, and John was happy to be right next to Alex, his sort-of date. John was still overjoyed at the thought of being considered, even a little bit, a date. He just, he _liked_ Alex. Alex was sweet and earnest, drawing John in whenever he was near. The food tasted as amazing as it looked; Thomas seemed to be especially fond of French cuisine. He’d made French onion soup, chicken Paillard, and roasted new potatoes; he’d also warmed up the bread John had baked, set out with the dips and sides his friends had contributed.

            “Did you suddenly learn to bake bread?” one of the other guests was asking Thomas skeptically, a woman named Benjamina who volunteered with him, “that would be dangerous for everyone in this building.”

            “John made it!” Alex volunteered, “he’s a baker. Please tell me there’s a reason Thomas isn’t allowed to make bread,” Alex went on; underneath the table, though, he gently squeezed John’s thigh, gave a smile just for him. “You’re the best baker,” he whispered, as Benjamina talked about how Thomas had broken her stand mixer. John blushed with pride, smiled back at Alex. It was like being in a secret little bubble, right in the middle of all those people, the two of them linked.

            The evening was a lot of fun, once John relaxed and allowed himself to accept that Thomas Jefferson wasn’t a rival for Alex’s affections and was genuinely a nice guy. His friends were just as interesting and friendly, and there were plenty of under-the-table knee squeezes to keep him happy for the rest of his life.

            “Hey,” Alex whispered after a few more hours, “you want to go?”

            “Go?” John wasn’t really ready to leave Alex’s company yet, reluctant to go all the way home.

            “Back to my apartment, I mean, I thought we’d hang out?” Alex offered, as if John would ever turn that offer down.

            “Unwind after the party?” John asked, and Alex nodded, relief clear on his face. He did still want to spend time with John, just had reached a limit with socializing, possibly because the topic at the table had switched to school and the guests’ various research projects. John was flushed with pride, that Alex considered being with him different, that it wasn’t taxing the way other socializing was, that Alex was so at ease with him.

            They said their goodbyes, thanked Thomas for hosting, and went upstairs together; it felt like they were dating, leaving a party together, coming back to an apartment and taking their shoes off, talking about the conversations they’d had. It was their sweet little bubble, cozy and theirs, and John was absolutely floating, mesmerized by everything Alex said.

            If being at Alex’s side had felt special, John loved this even more, picking out a movie and sitting beside Alex on the couch, eating spoonfuls of gelato from a fancy jar.

            “Don’t tell Thomas I buy this kind,” Alex warned, as they scrolled through Netflix options, “he loves French stuff, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

            “How do you know him, anyways? He seems like a really nice guy.”

            “From school,” Alex fussed with the remote, eyes down. “We actually weren’t friends, when I was – y’know. Before I dropped out.” He paused, quiet for a long moment. “Did I _drop out_ of school?” He turned questioning eyes to John, as if John would know; he didn’t know the particulars, although he suspected Alex had told him far more than he’d told anyone else. Alex looked scared, though, so John slipped a hand to Alex’s thigh, squeezed gently.

            “You’re taking a break,” he said, tried to sound sure of himself. “And if it’s the right choice for you, you won’t go back, or you will. But you’ll do whatever it is deliberately, which is the important thing.” Alex was nodding along, shoulders relaxing from their tense set, and John couldn’t believe he could _do_ this for Alex, could calm him and reassure him. That was all John wanted to be, a safe place.

            “Anyhow,” Alex went on, the panic lifted from his voice, “Thomas and I weren’t friends. I was kind of a dick to him, and maybe some other people, too. I kind of got too intense about research I didn’t agree with, and wasn’t that considerate of the people who had done it. But he was at the competition where I had my… whole thing, and helped me. Even though I wasn’t very friendly to him before that.”

            “That’s cool of him.” It was interesting, hearing about the pre-breakdown Alex, who was different than this one, but not in as many ways as John would expect. It was more like Alex’s traits and tendencies had been taken to their extremes, because John could see the roots of it all. Alex was hard-working, with a deep well of conviction and passion, and all of those things could be taken too far, could drive him into the ground. He hadn’t suddenly become someone else, he’d just been forced into the most harmful version of himself.

            Their tiny after-party was John’s favourite part of the evening; Alex finally settled on a movie, leaned into John’s side, and talked through the entire thing. John was loath to leave or even to go to sleep, didn’t care that he had work in the early morning, just wanted to stay forever, Alex looking at him like this, with warmth and fascination and, John was _sure of it,_ affection. The kind of affection he desperately hoped Alex would have for him.

            Alex was safe; Alex took John as he was, treated John like he was something precious and trustworthy and solid, and it made John want to do something risky that somehow felt like it would be okay, because the way they were now, it felt like he’d already done it and come out the other side.

            “Hey,” John whispered, and his heart wasn’t racing, his voice wasn’t shaking; looking at Alex, all he felt was calm, radiant peace. “Can I kiss you?”

            “Yeah,” Alex blinked up at him, and he was looking at John like he always did, “yeah.”

            John leaned down to kiss him, soft and slow and somehow familiar, like every word that had passed between them had been leading up to this, every sound and touch a fraction of a kiss already.

            But then – then Alex jerked away, his breath catching, looking at John in a way he never had before, but other people had – Alex was scrambling off the couch, backing away, and John –

            John broke, broke numb and broke quiet.

            “I – I – but what – what if –” Alex babbled out, looking like he might cry, and all John could do was stare, motionless, as Alex bolted from the room. John couldn’t move, listened as Alex dropped his keys once, twice, and the door closed behind him.

            John couldn’t feel anything.

            He slowly went to the front door, put on his jacket and shoes, left the apartment and stood for a moment with the door ajar before he remembered the sound of Alex’s keys skittering on the floor, and locked it before shutting it behind him.

            The trip home was like sleepwalking, just moments of realizing he was further along than he’d been a while ago. The same was true of walking past his roommates in the living room, going straight to bed, squeezing his eyes shut until he fell asleep.

            In the morning, he met Hercules in front of the coffee house, Hercules greeting him with a cheerful “so was it a date?” as he heard John’s footsteps come up behind him.

            “It was a date,” John mumbled, following Hercules into the entry, where Hercules stopped to turn on the lights and look at him.

            “Kid, you look awful,” he said, so gently it almost permeated John’s hazy numbness.

            “It was a date that didn’t go well,” John said, and escaped to the kitchen.

            Hercules knew John; he didn’t ask questions, just let them work quietly all morning. The only time something sharp and real flickered in John’s chest was when he heard the front door open again, but it quickly died down: Alex wasn’t there. Aaron was joining Jay, fully replacing the usual morning team, and John slipped back beneath the surface of his drifting numbness.

            The day slipped by him; before he knew it, he was walking down the subway steps, Hercules beside him.

            “Do you want to come over?” Hercules asked, as John followed him through the turnstiles. “I don’t give a shit that it’s a work night, you look like you could use some shitty-time remedy. Go for drinks? Stay home for drinks?” They’d reached the subway platform, the warm air heavy around them as they sat on a bench along the stone wall.

            “I don’t think I could,” John shook his head, “I’d probably end up crying under a table or something.”

            “That bad?”

            “Pretty fucking bad,” John said, heard his voice crack. And suddenly, so did he, his broken pieces falling apart, and he was _sobbing._ In the fucking subway, curled over and sobbing into his hands, sleeves quickly growing damp.

            “Shit, kid,” Hercules murmured, one hand resting on John’s back, as he shifted forward and sideways in his seat, shielding John from the side of the station where the few other passengers were accumulated. John shook and sobbed, couldn’t make himself stop, and he should have known this was coming; this was how he fell apart.

            This was what happened when he kissed William. When he kissed his best friend – how many years ago was it? John was eighteen, it was practically a decade ago, but it felt so much more recent– and William withdrew, although John didn’t know if it was because William didn’t like him that way, or because William’s father had come into the room at that moment. John’s parents had told him that they would still support him if they thought he was really doing his best to curtail his tendencies, in their best spider web voices: lovely, delicate, entrapping, with an ultimate purpose. John had fled his southern hometown, knew he’d become the subject of conversations accompanied by heads shaking and clucking tongues, the shame of an unruly son who wouldn’t go to college, a sympathetic shame his parents would shoulder happily, far easier than they’d accept the way their social circle would treat the possession of a gay son.

            John had run away in a way that looked more like rebelliously moving away, and he’d gotten all the way to New York City, all the way to a rented, shared room in a shitty apartment and a job cleaning at a tiny bakery, all the way through his first day of his new life, before he’d cried. This was what John did, struggled his way to the safest place he could reach, and once he’d gotten just barely far enough away, he broke.

            He’d kissed Alex, but it wasn’t like last time. It _wasn’t._ It was _Alex,_ and he’d said _yes,_ John had asked to kiss him, and Alex had looked at him after hearing that and it was the way he’d always looked at John, adoring and accepting, and Alex had said _it was okay._ It shouldn’t have ended like this, shouldn’t have been able to, because Alex knew everything about John, knew that John adored him and wanted to kiss him. Alex had looked at John like he was special, safe, something Alex wanted, someone that Alex hoped would want him.

            It wasn’t like last time; it wasn’t having the world ripped out from under him, wasn’t going to be followed by a change to his entire life, but it also wasn’t the first time. Somehow, this happening again – it was worse, it was harder, and it was _Alex,_ and John just – just really, really liked Alex.

            Their subway train came and left; another soon followed. New Yorkers passed by on the platform and didn’t look at him; John was a broken-hearted mess, and New York City spat those out regularly. John wasn’t special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COME YELL IN THE COMMENTS WITH ME ABOUT PRECIOUS BB JOHN
> 
> also i know switching pov in the middle of a thing isn't really ~done~ but then i had the epiphany of "who cares??? i want to see john very, very sad" and i am a huge fan of indulgent fic, so here we are.


End file.
